


Blue Moon

by Toad1



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance, The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic)
Genre: Anxiety, Gen, Kidnapping, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-05 15:43:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 44,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1823731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toad1/pseuds/Toad1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a week of terror and panic attacks, Party Poison brings Kobra Kid to a neutral motel to calm his nerves. As they struggle to recover, they recall the traumatic events that led them here, involving a neutral gang called the Blood Moons, a group of kidnapped pornodroids (including Blue), and a Japanese scientist caught in the whirlwind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Party Poison stirred under the covers, then lifted his head and propped himself up. He groaned quietly and rubbed his eyes. Sunlight glowed behind the thin plaid curtain that hung over the window behind his bed. When they entered the room last night, Poison’s stomach had dropped at the sight of the tall windows behind the beds; Kobra had sat down on his bed and squeezed himself tightly while Poison unhooked the curtains and draped them over the windows. Poison pulled back the curtain and peered outside. A plain stretched out behind them, with bristly shrubs and orange wildflowers ruffling slightly in the wind.  
  
Two beds sat on either side of the room, with a small safe and a black dresser in between. A small wooden chair sat against the wall. Yellowed floral wallpaper covered the walls, which held a single bookshelf and faded paintings of landscapes and farm animals. The bookshelf held three leathery, crumbling books, with gold lettering and detailed patterns on their spines. Each wiry bedframe held a stained but soft mattress, a patterned quilt, and a scratchy pillow.  
  
Poison turned the dial and opened the safe, unzipped his backpack, and pulled out a watch with the Better Living logo on the face. The digital readout said _9:43_. On a normal day, Kobra would have been up at 6:00, leaning against the vending machine in the cool morning air and watching the cars pass. Poison pulled a pair of jeans,  a red T-shirt, and a greyish-green buttoned-up shirt from his backpack, then stood up and took off his shirt. When he had finished dressing and hooked his transmitter to his belt, he heard mattress springs creak. Kobra was sitting up in bed, looking around with a confused expression on his face.  
  
Poison slammed the safe door shut and hurried over. “Hey, Kid,” he whispered, kneeling beside his bed. “How’d you sleep?”  
  
Kobra rubbed his face with his hands. “I don’t know. I was out. Did I wake up at all?”  
  
“Not that I remember.”  
  
Kobra nodded. He propped his head up in his hand and looked down at the bedsheets, a heavy look on his face.  
  
“You okay?” Poison said quietly.  
  
“Yeah. No. I’m fine. What do you want to do for breakfast?”  
  
“I was just about to check up front. Want to come with me?” he added, already knowing the answer.  
  
Kobra shook his head. “No thanks. I’m still exhausted from those pills.”  
  
“They finally kicked in, huh?”  
  
“Yup. Worked like a charm.”  
  
Poison reached out and squeezed his hand for a moment, noticing that Kobra clung to him when he pulled away. After taking a bowl and a water bottle from the safe, he slowly closed the door, making sure to leave it open a crack, and headed down the hallway. The hallway was papered with light brown patterned wallpaper, and between the doors hung bronze lamps with candles encased in smoky glass. The candles had been blown out, and the acrid smell of smoke hung in the air.   
  
When he reached the entrance area, he found the same woman behind the desk that had greeted them last night. She wore an oversized grey sweater and had auburn hair tied back in a bun. Her desk was cluttered with boxes, folders, and stacks of papers, and she was flipping through a set of folders in a water stained cardboard box.  
  
“Morning,” she said without looking up. “Breakfast is outside.”  
  
“Thank you,” Poison said. She nodded and continued flipping through the folders.  
  
Poison pushed open the door and stepped outside. Pale sunlight and fresh morning air hit his senses,  and the heavy staleness of the motel room seemed to float away. The plain across the road was dotted with orange wildflowers that had bloomed after an unusually wet April. Near the motel entrance stood an oil drum with a weak flame dancing below the rusty steel grille. It was surrounded by people holding bowls, plates, and plastic containers. Standing in front of the drum was a young girl on a wooden stepstool. She wore a thin yellow dress, leather sandals, and a headband covered with plastic beads. A large pot sat on the grille, and she stirred the contents with a soup ladle.  
  
“Good morning,” Poison said to the crowd with a weak smile. They looked up, and a few people smiled and waved or murmured “Good morning” back. A few gasped in shock, and one teenage boy frantically whispered to the blonde girl next to him. She squinted at Poison, and then her face lit up with recognition.  
  
After receiving two ladlefuls of crumbly scrambled eggs and a few hunks of sausage, Poison filled the bottle with water from an orange cooler. When he returned to their room, he nudged the door open with his elbow and saw Kobra lying in his bed with his eyes closed, one arm flung across the mattress. He propped himself up and blinked blearily at Poison.  
  
“Hey,” Poison whispered.  
  
“Hey,” Kobra said sleepily. “Sorry. Those pills still have me drugged.”  
  
“It’s okay. Do you want to sleep a while longer?”  
  
“No, I’ll get up.” He pushed the blanket back and yawned. “What did you get?”  
  
“Eggs and sausage.”  
  
“Oh yeah? Real eggs, or the powdered city crap?”  
  
“Try it and see.”  
  
He climbed out of bed and sat down on the floor while Poison unzipped his backpack and took out the plastic case that held their utensils. Kobra ate a few clumps of scrambled eggs and most of the sausage at Poison’s urging. He took small bites and slowly sipped his water.  
  
“So what do you think about the room?” Poison said.  
  
“It’s nice,” Kobra said. “How much was it?”  
  
“Fourteen carbons for the week.”  
  
“Fourteen? That’s it?”  
  
“Yep. Gave us a discount after they heard about our situation.”  
  
Kobra nodded silently. He lifted the bottle to his lips.  
  
“So how about the food here?” Poison said.  
  
“I’m pretty sure these eggs are powdered.”  
  
“Yeah, I think so, too. Probably bought it from the city.”  
  
“You’d think they learned their lesson after the Pup fiasco,” Kobra said. “What is it, a bunch of chemicals?”  
  
“I heard it’s all the waste the hot dog makers won’t touch,” Poison said. “Pig teeth, horse snouts, fish guts.”  
  
“Yeah. Cow eyeballs.”  
  
“Dead birds.”  
  
“Used joint papers.”  
  
“Mold scraped off old cheese.”  
  
“The crusty shit you get in the corner of your eye.”  
  
Poison smiled to himself as he swallowed another spoonful of scrambled eggs. For a second, he had seen a flicker of the man Kobra had been two weeks ago. But then his shoulders sagged once more, and the weariness returned to his eyes. He pushed a few globs of eggs around in the bowl like a child trying to avoid eating his vegetables.  
  
—-  
  
Poison turned on the cooler faucet and filled the bottle, then placed it on top of the cooler and poured some water into his hand. He splashed it over his face and ran his wet fingers through his hair. The breeze blew through the cool water, making him feel refreshed. He shook his head, spraying water droplets everywhere, then grabbed the bottle. As he turned to leave, he spotted the girl in the yellow dress leaning against the building, watching him solemnly.  
  
“Hey, kiddo,” Poison said, smiling warmly. The girl stared back at him. Poison pursed his lips, then headed for the door. He was about to grab the handle when his transmitter buzzed.  
  
“Hey, Poison,” Ghoul said, his voice obscured with static. “You there?”  
  
Poison unclipped his transmitter from his belt and held it to his ear. “Yeah, I’m here,” he said. “What’s up?”  
  
“Just wanted to check up on you guys. How’d last night go?”  
  
“Pretty well. He took his pills and was asleep in an hour.”  
  
“An hour? They worked that fast? Wow. And no tossing and turning?”  
  
“Nope. He was out.”  
  
“Good. I’m glad. You know, I’m going to be honest—I half-expected you two to be back before sunrise.”  
  
“So did I,” Poison said. “Especially on the drive up here. He looked so pale, I kept waiting for him to tell me to turn the car around.”  
  
“But he didn’t, huh? Guess he’s made of stronger stuff than we thought.”  
  
“Yeah. No, yeah. He’s amazing.”  
  
Ghoul laughed lightly. “Anyway, I’ve got some news you might be interested in.”  
  
“Oh yeah?”  
  
“Yeah. It’s about those Moon assholes.”  
  
Poison’s stomach twisted. He stepped over to the side of the building, his heart racing.  
  
“What is it?” he said.  
  
“Okay, get this: a couple of Moons went on some mission to Zone Three and rented a space in the Lightning Rod trailer park.”  
  
“Next to the Sparklers?”  
  
“Yup. And the Sparklers are planning a little surprise for them when they step into their territory.” He laughed darkly. “Guess no one told them that they were surrounded by friends of the Fabulous Four.”  
  
“Wait, no—they can’t do that, Ghoul!”  
  
“Why the hell not? They’ve got it coming.”  
  
“I know, but—” Poison suddenly felt dizzy, and he leaned against the wall of the building. “What if they trace it back to Kobra?”  
  
“They won’t trace it back to Kobra. No one’s going to mention him. The Moons have been harassing Killjoys for months, dude. For all they know, it could be for anyone.”  
  
“No, it’s too soon,” Poison said hollowly. “They’ll know it’s for Kobra.”  
  
“Why are you so nervous? After the Sparklers are done with them, they won’t even think about messing with him.”  
  
“I don’t care! I can’t put Kobra in danger!”  
  
“He’s not in danger! These guys are two Zones away! Why are you so upset? What’s going on?”  
  
“Ghoul—” Poison took a deep breath and rubbed his face with his hand. “Ghoul, you need to stop thinking about revenge for a second and listen to me—”  
  
“I’m not thinking about revenge! Who said anything about revenge?”  
  
“This whole thing is about revenge! You’re willing to put Kobra in danger just to get back at these guys!”  
  
“No, I don’t want to put Kobra in danger! I want him _out_ of danger! Because as long as these assholes are roaming around, he’s not safe! None of us are! Do you want other people to go through what he’s been through? Because that’s what’s going to happen if people like you pussy out!”  
  
Poison’s hands were shaking, and tears prickled in his eyes. “Fuck you, Ghoul,” he snarled. “Fuck you.”  
  
“ _What—”  
  
_ Poison switched off his transmitter, stormed over to the front door, and shoved it open. The woman at the desk looked up as he marched down the hallway. When he reached his door, he nearly jammed in the key and wrenched it open. Then he imagined Kobra cowering in fright and pulled his hand away. He rubbed his nose with his thumb and forefinger, then shoved his hands in his pockets, closed his eyes, and took deep breaths. Finally he shook his head, then slid in the key and slowly opened the door.  
  
Kobra was sitting up in bed, reading from a musty book he had pulled off the nearby shelf. Poison smiled at him, and Kobra quickly smiled back. But Poison recognized the anxiety on his face, and knew that he had started to wonder if he had been kidnapped outside the motel.  
  
“Sorry about that,” he said quietly, closing the door behind him. “Ghoul radioed me while I was outside.”  
  
“That’s okay,” Kobra said, laying the book aside. “Anything interesting going on back at the diner?”  
  
“Not that he mentioned.” Poison locked the bottle in the safe, then sat down on Kobra’s bed, stretched his legs out on front of him, and leaned against the wall. “What are you reading? It looks ancient.”  
  
“It is. It’s also in French.” Kobra laughed and turned the book around so Poison could see the French writing on the yellowed pages. “Cool illustrations, though. Here.” He flipped to a previous page and passed the book over to Poison. “Doesn’t that look like one of those _Stephanie Stardust_ posters?”  
  
Poison held the book up to the light. On the left page was an ink drawing of the moon floating in space, surrounded by a field of tiny stars. Each crater and crevice was carefully detailed.  
  
“Oh man,” Poison said, knowing Kobra would be pleased with his approval. “This would make an awesome poster. Especially with all those little details. That’s how you can spot a real artist, you know? Attention to detail.”  
  
Kobra smiled. “I think they could print one at Zone Inks. We’d have to take the book, though.”  
  
“Take the book? I don’t think that woman would let us.”  
  
“Then tear out the page. Don’t think a book like that is worth much anymore.”  
  
“Might be worth something to the owner.”  
  
“You think she can read French?”  
  
“She might. Dr. D can.”  
  
“He’s Dr. D, he can probably read Klingon.”  
  
Poison smiled and flipped forward a few pages. The next illustration showed a man in a spacesuit crouched in a corner, pointing a gun at a crowd of scaly, lizardlike aliens in front of him. The man grimaced in fear beneath the glass sphere encasing his head. A heavy feeling settled over Poison. He closed the book and handed it back to Kobra.  
  
 _Now’s the time. When he’s in a good mood._  
  
“Hey, uh…I was thinking about making a run to the outhouse. Do you want to come?”  
  
Kobra’s eyes widened, and his expression became tense. “No,” he said. “No, uh…you go ahead. I’m good.”  
  
“Are you sure you don’t need to take a leak?”  
  
“I do, but I’ll just…God.” He winced. “Did you bring the bottle?”  
  
“I think we left it at the diner.”  
  
“Are you kidding me? Dammit. All right, I’ll use the other one.”  
  
“Do you really want to use the bottle?”  
  
“Do I want to use the bottle? No, I don’t want to use the bottle, but when I can’t step outside without flying into a panic, I don’t have much of a choice. Is this conversation going somewhere?”  
  
Poison must have looked hurt, because Kobra’s expression immediately softened. “I’m sorry, man,” he said. “I’m not mad at you. It’s just—this is embarrassing, you know?”  
  
“I know,” Poison said gently, then took a deep breath. “I think you need to go outside, Kid.”  
  
“What? Oh, no. I thought I wouldn’t have to worry about that while I was here. That was the deal.”  
  
“I know, but—you’re stressed about this, Kid. It’s making you worse.”  
  
Kobra’s hands twisted in his lap.  
  
“I know,” he said. “But every time I try to step outside, it’s like this wave of panic crashes over me. I just seize up.”  
  
“That’s why you need to push through it, kiddo.”  
  
“Push through it? I can’t just push through it. If I could do that, we wouldn’t be here right now.”  
  
“You can if you try. Look—” he said as Kobra opened his mouth to argue. “I know it’s not easy. Pony used to tell me about when D would have war flashbacks. But if you let that fear control you, you’ll end up like him. He couldn’t leave his shack for ten years until Pony came along. I’m worried about you, Kid. I don’t want that to happen to you.”  
  
Silent, Kobra wrapped his arms around himself. He took a deep, shaky breath.  
  
“I don’t want to end up like him either,” he said finally. “I mean, he’s a great man, but—I can’t stay indoors forever. I’ve been a liability on you guys for the past week.”  
  
“You’re not a liability, Kid. We love you. But you need to go outside.”  
  
Kobra smiled faintly, then said “Yeah. I know.”  
  
“Just once today, Kid. That’s all I ask.”  
  
“Just once?”  
  
“Yeah. After that, I’ll carry your bottles for the rest of the day.”  
  
“No arguments?”  
  
“No arguments.”  
  
Kobra cracked a half-smile, but a shadow passed over his face. Poison climbed out of bed and reached out a hand. Kobra hesitated for several moments. Just when Poison thought he had changed his mind, he seized his hand and let himself be pulled to his feet.  
  
Kobra’s hands shook as he crept down the hallway, and his breathing was quick and uneven. Poison placed a hand on his back and gently guided him to the front door. The woman at the front desk was organizing Polaroids into stacks. She tapped one stack against the desk to straighten it, and Kobra jumped.  
  
“Sorry,” she said.  
  
Kobra didn’t respond. He gazed out at the highway outside the doors, and panic flashed across his face.  
  
“I can’t do this,” he whispered to Poison.  
  
“Yes, you can. Go on.”  
  
“I can’t do it, man, I, oh God—”  
  
Poison pushed the door open and nudged Kobra outside. Kobra wrapped his arms tightly around himself and followed Poison around to the side of the building. As the small wooden shack came into view, Poison prayed that no one was inside. Kobra covered his face with his hands and took a few gasping breaths, then rapped on the door. No answer. He wrenched open the door and threw himself inside. There was a gasping and coughing, followed by dry retching.  
  
“Are you okay in there, Kid?” Poison said.  
  
“Yeah,” Kobra said in a choked voice. He retched again, then spat. After finally relieving himself, he staggered out. His face was white as a sheet of paper.  
  
“Hang on,” Poison said, his brow creased in worry. “I’ll just be a second, okay?”  
  
When he came back out, he wrapped an arm around Kobra’s shoulders and led him back to the motel. Kobra squeezed himself so tightly that his nails dug into his skin, leaving white crescents.  
  
“Easy, Kid,” Poison said. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”  
  
Finally Poison unlocked the door and Kobra scurried inside. He collapsed on the edge of his bed while Poison locked the door, then sat down next to him.  
  
“You’re so pale, Kid,” Poison said. “You better eat something.”  
  
Kobra cradled his face in his hands and took deep breaths while Poison dug around in his backpack. He returned with the bottle of water and a strip of deer jerky. Kobra nibbled on the jerky and took small sips of water while his breathing evened out.  
  
“How do you feel, kiddo?” Poison said when the jerky was half gone.  
  
“Better, now,” Kobra said.  
  
Poison brushed the stringy hair away from his forehead. “You’re not as pale now. I thought you were going to pass out on me.”  
  
“I almost did. Few more minutes out there, and I would have.”  
  
Poison sighed. “Well, at least you made it out there,” he said, patting Kobra’s knee.  
  
Kobra offered him the rest of the jerky, but Poison shook his head. He squeezed his hands together and looked down at his boots. They were flaked with dust, and sand was crusted around the edges. Kobra’s were shinier and free of dust, _because he hasn’t been outside in two weeks,_ Poison thought miserably. As Kobra ate in silence, Poison’s eyes fell on his transmitter, and his mind started to drift…


	2. Chapter 2

Poison was startled out of sleep by a dull buzzing. He raised his head and wearily opened his eyes, then pushed back his blanket and sat up. His transmitter was buzzing on the floor beside his mattress. He picked it up and held it to his ear.  
  
“Yeah?” he said sleepily. _If this is another fucking crackpot…_  
  
“Is this Party Poison?” said an unfamiliar female voice.  
  
“Yeah. This is me. Who is this?”  
  
The woman took a deep breath. “Mr. Poison, I hate to call you at this hour, but I couldn’t wait any longer. Because I think—well, I think I know who took your brother.”  
  
Suddenly he was wide awake. He jerked to a sitting position, his heart racing.  
  
“What? Where is he?”  
  
“I don’t want to get your hopes up too much. I don’t know anything for sure at this point. But he was taken near the town of Aurora, correct?”  
  
“Yeah. Just a few miles away.?”  
  
She paused. “And is your brother the type to…interfere with situations that are morally wrong? Even if it puts his own life at stake?”   
  
“Why?” Poison said urgently. “What do you mean?”  
  
“I, um…I have reason to believe that gang activity was going on around that time.”  
  
“ _What?_ What gang?”  
  
“The Blood Moons, a subsector of the Crescent Moons. They live on the outskirts of Aurora, and they tend to be involved in…illicit activities. They may have taken your brother as prisoner.”  
  
Poison’s voice became strained. “Why? What did he do?”  
  
“I don’t know. I have some ideas, but I don’t want to share them until I know for certain.”  
  
“Why not? You can’t just call me like this and not tell me anything! He’s my brother!”  
  
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Poison,” she said weakly. “I just couldn’t go another hour without telling you. This has kept me awake all night.”  
  
“What about me? Do you realize this is going to keep me awake all night? Do you have any idea how many crackpots have called us with fake information?” His voice cracked. “If you’re messing with me, I swear to God—”  
  
“No!” she said quickly. “No, I promise that I’m not messing with you. I’m doing everything in my power to figure out the truth as soon as possible. I just need to gather more information before we can act.”  
  
“Information? What information? Who the hell are you?”  
  
“I can’t give you my identity over transmitter. Just please know that—”  
  
“Why not? What the hell is going on?”  
  
“Just please know that I may be able to save your brother, Mr. Poison! I will contact you as soon as new evidence arises!”  
  
“ _What?_ ”  
  
Static hissed from the transmitter.  
  
Poison threw the transmitter across the room, then flopped back on the mattress. He rubbed his face with both hands, tears brimming in his eyes. _It’s probably just another fucking troll,_ he thought desperately. _Someone who thought it’d be fun to take advantage of me._ But the words “I may be able to save your brother” echoed in his mind.  
  
A few days later, Poison sat at a booth near the window with his transmitter on the table and Kobra’s helmet in his lap. A Killjoy named Winter Lily had contacted Dr. Death Defying four days ago after finding Kobra’s motorcycle, helmet, and gun abandoned on the side of the road. After that, they had canceled all their plans to devote time to traveling around Zone One, interviewing anyone who would listen, radioing friends in other Zones, and scouring every location they knew for a sign of Kobra. Dr. Death Defying broadcasted the situation and Poison’s call number at the beginning of every show. But while everyone had opinions—“The Dracs got him.” “He ran back to the city.” “He picked a fight with the wrong Killjoy.” “He got high off the waves and wandered off.”—no one had evidence. Since Kobra had disappeared, Poison’s throat was constantly raw, tears prickled in his eyes, his body sagged with exhaustion, and his stomach rumbled with hunger that he barely noticed.  
  
A man with bright orange hair and an orange jacket with a _Space Camp_ patch stood in front of the motorcycle parked outside the diner, with Ghoul standing next to him with his arms folded. _Probably humoring that kid,_ Poison thought. Like many other Killjoys, the man was peering at the seat, adjusting the handlebars, and studying the sand crusted in the wheels, as if he would discover some piece of evidence that everyone else had missed. The sky was dim, and a few stars had peeked out.   
  
Suddenly Poison’s transmitter buzzed, jittering against the table. His stomach lurched with the now-familiar surge of anticipation and apprehension. He paused, his fingers hovering above the transmitter, then picked it up and held it to his ear.  
  
“Yeah?” he said.  
  
“Mr. Poison,” said the woman. “This is the woman who called you a few days ago. I’ve located your brother.”  
  
“ _What?_ ” Poison jumped to his feet, clutching the helmet in his free hand. “Where is he? Is he okay?”  
  
“He’s alive, yes. My…sources have told me that he’s injured, but alive.”  
  
“Oh my God.” The room started to spin. “Oh my God. W-what happened?”  
  
“I’ll explain as soon as I can. I need you to come right over so we can build a plan of action.”  
  
“A-a plan of action? For what?”  
  
“For retrieving your brother.”  
  
“Retrieving him from _where?_ What’s going on?”  
  
“I’m afraid we can’t talk over transmitter. It’s not secure. I’ll give you my location, and we’ll meet there and speak as soon as possible. Okay?”  
  
“Wait, no. Hang on. How do I know this isn’t some kind of trap?”  
  
She paused. “Give me a second, please.”  
  
There were rustling sounds and quiet, muffled talking. Then a higher, softer female voice said “Party Poison?”  
  
“Yeah?” Poison said, his heart racing.  
  
“I am Blue. I was locked up with your brother.”  
  
“What? Locked up where?”  
  
 A pause. “I cannot say too much now. But your brother is alive, Party Poison. He is a great man. He helped us all in that lonely room.”  
  
“Helped you do _what_?” Poison was on the verge of tears. “What the hell is going on? Why can’t somebody tell me?”  
  
Her voice waved slightly. “I’m so sorry, Party Poison. I wish I could tell you now. But it’s not secure, and the story is too long. I promise that if you come see us, we will tell you everything that you need to know.”  
  
“Tell me what? Look, how do I know you’re not making this up?”  
  
“I-I don’t know, Party Poison.”  
  
“Okay. Here. Describe him for me. What was he wearing?”  
  
“Um…he was wearing a red jacket, with a black symbol on the back. And black-and-white stripes on the sleeves, with the word _KOBRA,_ with a K. And black jeans, and a yellow shirt with a black pattern of diagonal stripes.”  
  
Poison paused. “Wait. Goddammit. That’s his ‘official’ outfit. You could have seen that on a poster. Tell me something else.”  
  
“What do you want me to tell you?”  
  
“I don’t know. What did he say to you? What did you talk about?”  
  
Her voice became lighter. “Oh, he told us all sorts of wonderful stories. He told us a funny story about your partner Fun Ghoul becoming so tired of your favorite band that he threw your radio out the window!”  
  
A spark of hope flared up in Poison’s mind. “What else did he tell you?”  
  
“Well, there was one about Fun Ghoul trying to ride a tortoise. And he told us that you once tried to dye your hair yellow, but you had a malfunction and your hair turned sickly green. And that you covered the logo on your jacket with red gems, but people kept sneaking up behind you and stealing them. And…”  
  
Poison sat down at the booth as she went on, stunned.  He could hear Kobra’s voice in his mind, recounting the stories, and tears welled up in his eyes.  
  
“O-okay,” he said in a choked voice. “Okay. That’s enough. I believe you.”  
  
“I’m glad, Party Poison,” she said, sounding relieved.  
  
“But—I have to know something. How do I know you’re not working for these guys? The Blood Moons or whatever.”  
  
“Oh, I would never work for them. They were horrible to me and my friends, and your brother, too.”  
  
Poison pulled off his bandana from around his neck and wiped his eyes. “All right. C-can you put the other woman back on the line?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
A moment later, she said “I’m glad that you came around, Mr. Poison. We need your help.”  
  
“Look…” he said, pushing his wet hair out of his face. “Why don’t you come down here to the diner? I’ll give you the coordinates.”  
  
“I’m afraid that’s too far away. If I drive down there, it will take me twice as long to reach your brother.”  
  
“Well, I’m not entirely convinced that you’re not working for the Moons.”  
  
“If I were, I wouldn’t have called you on transmitter, therefore giving you the chance to trace my identity and location.”  
  
Poison paused. “Yeah. I guess. But why do you care about this so much? Who _are_ you?”  
  
“I’m someone who cares about the innocent victims in this situation, Mr. Poison.”  
  
Poison sighed. He rested his elbow on the table and cradled his forehead in his hands.  
  
“We’ll make a deal,” she said. “When I give you my location, I’ll give you permission to share it with as many Killjoys as you like. You can surround my house with armed vehicles. I don’t care. I can assure you that my intentions are good.”  
  
Poison scrunched his face and rubbed his forehead in thought. Sunlight gleamed off the helmet on the table. _Good Luck,_ the visor said.  
  
“Fine,” Poison said. “Fine. What are your coordinates?”  
  
—-  
  
“Are you okay, man?”  
  
Poison blinked, then turned to Kobra, who was looking at him with concern.  
  
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “Sorry. Drifted off there for a minute.”  
  
“That’s okay.” Kobra climbed out of bed and knelt in front of the safe, then started turning the dial.   
“Anyway, I was thinking. Maybe we should get Ghoul to come up here while you go outside for a bit.”  
  
Poison jolted awake. “ _What?_ ”  
  
Kobra looked up. “Just for a few hours. I know you don’t want to be trapped in here all day.”  
  
“I’ll manage, Kid. It’s fine.”  
  
“No, it’s not. You can’t be locked up in this room all week, Poison. You’ll go crazy.”  
  
“Kid, a week in here is nothing compared to the week you went through. I’ll be fine.”  
  
“I _know_ you, man. Another hour in here, and you’ll start chewing up wallpaper.” Kobra opened the door and took out the backpack. “I’ll call Ghoul after I get dressed.”  
  
Poison groaned. “You can’t call him. He’s working back at the station. Call Jet.”  
  
Kobra looked at him strangely as he pulled off his shirt. “Jet’s driving up to the trash heap with Chimp today. You know that.”  
  
“Well, Ghoul can’t leave the station. We need the money.”  
  
Kobra pulled on a clean T-shirt, a green one with a gummy bear logo. “It’s fine. Cherri’ll cover for him.”  
  
“Why don’t you call Cherri instead?”  
  
“Because I didn’t come up here for a three-hour poetry reading.”  
  
“Kobra, just leave Ghoul alone! He can’t come up here today!”  
  
“What is your problem?” Kobra said incredulously, holding a pair of jeans. “Look, you don’t have to martyr yourself for me!”  
  
“I’m not being a martyr!”  
  
“Then what the hell is going on?”  
  
Poison glared at nothing for several moments, then folded his arms and turned away with his jaw set.  
  
“It’s nothing,” he said quietly. “Don’t worry about it.”  
  
“Oh, I see,” Kobra said, standing up. “You two had a fight.”  
  
Poison didn’t respond.  
  
“What was it about?”  
  
“It’s nothing.”  
  
“Doesn’t sound like nothing.”  
  
No response.  
  
Kobra tugged on his jeans. “All right. Well, you don’t have to talk to him. Just slip out of here before he gets here.”  
  
Poison’s expression softened. “Yeah. I guess so.”  
  
“I’m calling him, dude.” Shaking his head, Kobra unclipped his transmitter from his belt and found Ghoul’s frequency. “Hey, Ghoul?” he said. “Are you there?”  
  
“Hey, Kid,” Ghoul said. “How’s it going up there?” Poison’s stomach twisted.  
  
“Not too bad. I was thinking you could relieve Poison of his duties for a few hours. Do you mind driving up here?”  
  
“You want me to come over?” Ghoul said.  
  
“Yeah, just for a few hours. I think he needs a break.”  
  
“Yeah, probably. But is there, uh…” He cleared his throat. “Is there anybody else that could stay with you? You know, since I’ve got the station today.”  
  
Kobra slid a hand up into his hair. “Yeah, I guess, but…I don’t know, I’d rather have you around. Can you make it?”  
  
Another pause. “Yeah,” Ghoul said. “Yeah, I’m on it. Just give me a few minutes to call Cherri, and I’ll be over in…what is it, half an hour?”  
  
“Something like that. I wasn’t paying much attention when we drove up here last night.”  
  
“Yeah, I think it’s half an hour. Do you need me to bring anything? Are you good on supplies?”  
  
Kobra glanced at Poison, who nodded once.  
  
“Yeah, we’re good. But can you bring over a pack of cards? And a few comic books, too.”  
  
“Can do. All right, I’ll see you then?”  
  
“Yup. See you.”  
  
Kobra hooked his transmitter back on his belt, then gave Poison a half-smile. Poison glared at him. Kobra sat down on the edge of the bed and prodded his foot teasingly.  
  
“You need to talk to him,” he said.  
  
“Kid, don’t start lecturing me,” Poison said wearily.  
  
“I’m just saying. Walk around outside for a while, take some time to cool down, and when you come back, talk it out.”  
  
“Yeah. We’ll see.”  
  
“We’ll see? That’s not very reassuring.”  
  
“We’ll deal with it. Don’t worry about it.”  
  
“You promise?”  
  
“Yeah. I promise.”  
  
“All right. Just don’t drag this out like you did with your last fight.”  
  
“Kid, he threw my transmitter out the window.”  
  
“That’s what I’m saying. He’s like a twelve-year-old. You need to be the bigger person.”  
  
Half an hour later, Poison someone knocked on the door. Kobra jumped and stared wide-eyed at the door. Poison tensed, a small part of him fearing that he would find one of the Blood Moons on the other side.   
  
“Who is it?” he said.  
  
“It’s me, Ghoul,” Ghoul said, his voice muffled.  
  
Poison closed his eyes and quietly sighed, then opened the door and stepped back. Ghoul wore a faded black T-shirt and a pair of jeans, and a leather bag was slung over his shoulder. After they exchanged solemn glances, Poison pushed past him. He marched down the hallway with only a quick glance to make sure the door was closed and locked—he had left the key with Kobra—then burst through the front doors and stepped out onto the road, his boots pounding against the pavement.   
  
After a few minutes of walking, he reached the main part of town. The tall brick buildings were squeezed together, some two stories high with dusty apartment windows. The sidewalk had cracked and several places, the buildings had bleached in the sun, windows and glass doors had cracked, bricks were missing or crumbled, and road signs stuck up at strange angles. A stripped, upturn car lay rusting across the road, and birds fluttered around the defunct powerlines and unlit lightposts. But people bustled around inside the old buildings, and lights glowed inside the buildings with gleaming solar panels on their roofs.  
  
Poison stepped inside a pink building with dusty white trim and the word _BAKERY_ painted on the door in chipped and peeling letters. The inside walls were pink, with several splotches in different tints: to cover up graffiti, Poison assumed. At the front of the room was a counter attached to a glass case, a door leading to a back room, and a black chalkboard with a list of prices. Next to the chalkboard were a wooden clock and a sloppy  painting of a cactus. Three round tables with mismatched chairs sat along the side of the room. A woman in a musty red coat with stained brass buttons sat at one of the tables, eating a sandwich. She avoided Poison’s eye.  
  
The man behind the counter, a dark-haired teenager, smiled at Poison when he approached the counter. “Hey,” he said. “Are you new here? Did you just move into the Lofts?”  
  
“Nah, I’m from the Zones,” Poison said. “Just here for a visit.”  
  
“I thought you weren’t from around here. The hair gives it away.”  
  
Poison laughed and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, it does that.”  
  
“So where are from? Shackleville? Golden Valley?”  
  
Poison paused. “Uh…actually, I live in the diner. I’m a Killjoy.” He tried to smile in a friendly way.  
  
The man stiffened. “You’re a Killjoy?”  
  
 _Shit.  
  
_ “Yeah. That’s why I’m here. Taking a break for a while.”  
  
The man looked down at the cash register. “Well, whenever you’re ready, sir,” he said in a high voice.  
  
Poison held back a sigh, then gripped the edge of the counter, leaned forward, and squinted at the case. The food was lit by a dim greyish glow. The top row held six plastic-wrapped sub sandwiches and a few Styrofoam bowls of noodles. The row beneath it held a few plastic-wrapped brownies and red bean paste buns. Each package was fixed with a Better Living sticker. In the bottom row were four water bottles and a dozen soda cans. The cans boasted bright colors, cartoony pictures of fruit with exaggerated sparkles, and bold Japanese writing.  
  
“You guys have fruit soda?” Poison said, forgetting the awkward atmosphere. “Oh, man, I love fruit soda! Where’d you get it?”  
  
“St. Andrew’s.”  
  
“That’s great. Okay, I’ll take, umm…” He drummed his fingers against the counter. “One of those sandwiches and a pineapple soda.”  
  
“Which sandwich?”  
  
“Doesn’t matter.”  
  
The man silently took the items out of the case and placed them on the counter, along with a napkin he pulled from a metal dispenser. Poison fished his wallet out of his pocket and handed him three carbons, then sat down at the table nearest the window. The woman in the red coat immediately placed her sandwich in her mouth, grabbed her bag and pushed in the chair, and headed out. Poison glared at her as the door slammed behind her, anger coiling in his stomach.  
  
 _Don’t get mad. It’s not important.  
  
Ghoul would’ve told that woman off if he was here.  
  
Ghoul’s not here. Don’t get upset. It’s not worth it.  
  
_ He shook his head, then unwrapped the plastic from his sandwich and took a bite. After getting a mouthful of stale, chewy bread, he peered between the loaves. There was a thin strip of processed meat and a smear of yellowish spread that he assumed was cheese. Poison placed the sandwich down and pulled the tab on the soda, which hissed loudly. He ate slowly and watched as people milled about the town, his view obscured by an ancient list of hours painted on the window.   
  
When he stood up to leave, the man at the counter said “Uh…excuse me.” Poison turned to him. “Can I ask why you were watching everybody?”  
  
Poison blinked. “I’m just sitting here,” he said, his anger rising. “Am I allowed to do that? Can I sit in front if a window without being interrogated?”  
  
“No, no,” he said quickly. “I just—nevermind.”  
  
“I’m not plotting to blow up your town, if that’s what you think,” he said, his anger rising. “Do you think I came out here to start a war? Or kidnap somebody?”  
  
“I’m _sorry_ , okay?”  
  
Poison tipped his head back and caught the last drops of soda, then balled up the trash and turned to leave. Just as he was pushing open the door, he stopped. “Do you want to know why I’m here?” he said.  
  
The man didn’t respond, his eyes wide.  
  
“My brother and I are staying in that motel down the road. Normally we’d be back at the diner, but he’s been having panic attacks so bad that he can barely function. You know what happened to him?”  
  
He shook his head.  
  
“A gang of neutrals kept him locked up in their hideout for a week. They starved and burned him every day. He’s got about seven burns down his right arm.” Poison’s expression waved for a moment. “Remember that next time you suspect one of us.”  
  
The man stared at Poison. Poison held eye contact for a few moments, then turned and walked out the door.  
  
After tucking the soda can and plastic wrap in his backpack to sell to a recycler in Zone Two, Poison stormed blindly down the road for several minutes until his anger had been burned off. Then he sat down on the sidewalk, stretched his legs out in the road, and pushed his hair out of his face. A man walked down the opposite sidewalk with a dog tied to a long rope. He waved at Poison, who lifted a hand and waved back.  
  
The building across the road from Poison was squatter than the others, with a locked metal mailbox near the door. There was an overhung roof supported by tall beams, and the building was covered in chipped beige paint. A white sign hung on the wall beside the mailbox. Poison squinted at the words, then stood up and approached the building. Once he’d crossed the road, he could make out the sign: _JAMES VINCENT MEMORIAL LIBRARY.  
  
_ Poison pressed his face to the front door and cupped his hands around the glass. Inside were a dozen black metal shelves lined with magazines and books. A couch and a few tables sat at the left end of the building, and a desk sat at the right. There was a vast empty space in the back. Poison could barely make out a figure sitting at the desk. A few ceiling lights glowed dimly overhead.  
  
The woman behind the desk looked up from a letter she was writing when Poison stepped inside. She had large eyes, wavy black hair, and a white sweater dotted with tiny green, pink, and yellow balls. Poison smiled weakly at her, half-expecting her to kick him out, but she nodded in acknowledgement and returned to her letter.  
  
Assuming it was safe to browse, Poison chose one of the shelves at random. A wooden bookend with an elaborately carved _S_ stood at the beginning of the top row, which was lined with books and magazines. Some books were thick and leathery, and others had dusty plastic covers. Many were torn, wrinkly, water stained, or dog-eared, and a few were missing their covers. Poison ran a finger along the spines. _Salazar Smith, Sally’s Slippery Soap, Sandy Nights, The Science of Love_ — Poison spotted the words _Science Fiction._ He pulled a thick red paperback off the shelf. The cover showed a painting of an astronaut firing a ray gun at a massive serpent that had emerged from a moon crater. Above the painting were the words _The Best Science Fiction of 1981._ Poison grinned and tucked the book under his arm.  
  
After collecting two more science fiction books and a large hardback book of celestial paintings, Poison brought them up to the counter and laid them on the desktop. “Hey,” he said, breathless with excitement. “I’d like to check these out.”   
  
The woman gave him a strange look. “I can’t check these out to you.”  
  
“ _What?_ ” Poison groaned. “Look, ma’am, I promise I’m not going to steal them—”  
  
“No, it’s not that. I don’t check out books to anyone.”  
  
Poison blinked. “Oh.” He shook himself. “I’m sorry. I just had a bad experience in that diner—”  
  
“I used to check books out,” she said. “Then I found out that people would sell them to rebels for kindling. That’s what happened to most of the books and shelves in here. This library had thousands of books in the old days, but most of them were thrown in people’s campfires.” She gestured around the room. “What you’ve seen here is what I’ve collected over the past two years. I’ve only collected this many because we got solar power about three years back. Before that, people would break in and steal them.”  
  
“Oh man,” Poison said. “I’m so sorry. Books are important, y’know? We’ve got a library out in the Zones.”  
  
She nodded silently.  
  
Poison placed a hand on his hip and drummed his fingers on the stack of books. “Man, I’d really like to be able to show these to my brother…are you sure we can’t work something out?”  
  
“You can bring your brother to the library and read them at one of the tables.”  
  
“He has to come here?”  
  
The woman nodded. Poison sighed.  
  
“All right,” he said. “Maybe we’ll be back later this week. Should I leave the books here?” he added.  
  
“Yes. I’ll put them back later.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
She nodded again, then returned to her letter, her pen scratching quietly against the paper. Poison gave the books once last glance, then shuffled out the door.  
  
He squinted and shielded his eyes when the sunlight hit his face, then walked down the road with his head bowed. When the pink walls of the bakery came into view, Poison suddenly heard “Hey! Hey, Party! Is that you?” and a tinny whirring sound.  
  
Poison turned, and his face broke out into a grin. Show Pony skated toward him. He wore a black leather jacket and a faded Mousekat T-shirt, blue kneepads strapped over his frayed jeans, and roller skates. His shoulder-length black hair was tousled in the wind, and a smudge of pink makeup was smeared over his right eye. A wide leather duffel bag was strapped over one shoulder, bristling with shiny buttons and pins, and he sipped from a pink can of soda with Japanese lettering and a cartoon strawberry.  
  
“Hey, babe!” Pony said, stretching out his arms for a hug. “I thought that was you! How’s stuff?”  
  
“The stuff is good,” Poison said as Pony patted his back. “How’s D?”  
  
“D’s great. He’s been a bit cranky, though, ever since he got that box of broken tapes.”  
  
“Oh, yeah, he told me. That was awful. Do you think they did it on purpose?”  
  
“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Pony said, taking a drink. “I told him he should do his next show with the broken tapes.”  
  
They started to walk down the road, Pony cruising from side to side. “Wouldn’t that basically be silence?” Poison said with a laugh.  
  
“Yup. Start off the show by saying _I’d like to thank my lovely friends Rising Sun and Wiretap for these great tapes,_ and then play the nasty grinding sound they make for an hour. No one’ll give him broken tapes ever again.”  
  
Poison laughed. “I don’t know, they might just appreciate the attention. Dr. D said their name on air.”  
  
“He won’t say their names, then. He’ll say _I’d like to think my lovely friends Shitsmear and Skullfucking Douchebag._ ”  
  
“There are Killjoys with those names out there. I guarantee you.”  
  
Pony grinned and took another drink.  
  
Poison stopped when they reached the bakery. “Do you mind if I pop in here for a second?” he said. “I want to get Kobra one of those sodas.”  
  
“Sure thing.”  
  
Poison stepped inside and held the door open while Pony cruised in. An elderly man sitting at the nearest table glanced up, but said nothing. A different worker stood behind the counter. He looked like an older version of the man before, with darker hair and a stubbled chin, and had an unmistakable _Oh no, not again_ look on his face.  
  
“I’m back, babe,” Pony said with a grin, then wrapped an arm around Poison’s shoulders and leaned against him. “And I brought my boyfriend. Didn’t you say you wanted to meet him?”  
  
Poison choked on laughter and looked at Pony incredulously. _Boyfriend?  
  
_ “Not once did I say that I wanted to meet your boyfriend,” the man said.  
  
“Oh, I’m pretty sure that you did.” Pony released Poison and cruised up to the counter, then leaned forward and folded his arms on the tabletop. “What’ll it be, honeybunch?” he called back to Poison.  
  
“A-a lime soda,” Poison said, stifling his laughter.  
  
Pony smiled dreamily at the man and dug his toe into the floor while the man slid open the food case. “I bet you sell a lot of fruit sodas,” he said. “Do you meet a lot of fruits like me?”  
  
The man grabbed one of the sodas and dropped it on the counter. “Not if I can help it.”  
  
Pony picked up the can, then frowned. “That’s lemon, dear,” he said. “He asked for lime. Can you get us a lime soda, sweetie?”  
  
The man sighed through gritted teeth, then shoved the can back in the case, and rifled around until he found a lime soda. He placed it on the counter and glared at Pony.  
  
“Are either of you going to pay?” he said.  
  
“I’ve got it,” Poison said, fishing out his wallet.  
  
“We should get a cherry cola for Cherri,” Pony said. “Wouldn’t that be a funny turn of events?”  
  
“Nah, it’d go flat,” Poison said as he rifled through his wallet. “We didn’t bring a cooler.”  
  
“Then what about a peach cola for our little peach?”  
  
Pony grinned at the man, who shot him a death glare.  
  
“I don’t think he’s in the mood for drinks, babe,” Poison said with a choked-back laugh. He stepped forward and handed the man the carbon. “Maybe another time, eh?” He winked at the man, who groaned and punched open the cash register.  
  
“I’ve been thinking,” Pony said. “Do you want to know what your Killjoy name would be?”  
  
The man ignored him.  
  
“If you were a Killjoy, your name would be Peaches and Scream.”  
  
“Goddammit!” the man said, slamming a fist on the counter. “This is why no one likes you people!”  
  
Poison burst out laughing. Pony took the can of lime soda and handed it to Poison, then stood and draped his arm around his shoulders. “Come on, honey,” he said. “Let’s go somewhere where our company is more appreciated.”  
  
“No one would appreciate yourcompany,” the man said.  
  
“You just don’t hang around the right people,” Pony said. He shot the man a dramatic wink, and he and Poison headed out, with Poison’s arm around his waist.  
  
Once they were outside, Pony untangled himself from Poison, who burst out laughing. “What the hell was that all about?” he said.  
  
“Oh, that guy was a total dick to me earlier.”  
  
“Oh yeah? What’d he do?”  
  
“I went in there for a snack this morning, and he said ‘Wait, are you a Killjoy?’ I said ‘How did you know, darling?’ And he said ‘Because you just said _darling_.’”  
  
Poison snorted.  
  
“And when he gave me the bun, he said ‘Don’t throw this at anyone, you little creep.’ He kept saying ‘I know your type.’ What does that even mean?”  
  
“It means he’s a dick, kiddo.”  
  
“I told him ‘I know your type, too, sweetheart. Bitter and repressed.’ Of course, he wouldn’t even make eye contact with me after that.”  
  
Poison laughed so hard that his shoulders shook. “Oh man. You were brilliant in there.”  
  
“Why thank you, babe.”  
  
“We need to start taking you to every neutral town. We get this shit everywhere we go.”  
  
“I am available for birthdays and parties.”  
  
They walked in silence for a few moments, Pony’s skates whirring against the pavement.  
  
“So what brings you out here?” Poison said. “I thought you didn’t deliver to neutral towns.”  
  
“Normally, I don’t, but these guys paid a pretty hefty price. They said they had six letters that had to be delivered _urgently,_ and couldn’t wait around for the mailies.”  
  
“Oh yeah? How’d you get here? I know you didn’t skate all the way up here.”  
  
“I hitched a few rides.”  
  
Poison raised his eyebrows. “Does D know about that?”  
  
“Not presently, no.”  
  
Poison smiled to himself.  
  
“So how’s little Kobra?” Pony said. “Is he doing better?”  
  
“D didn’t tell you?” Poison looked at him in surprise. “No, that’s why we’re here. We rented a room in that motel down the road for a week.”  
  
Pony slowed down. “Oh, why?”  
  
Poison shook his head. “It’s those panic attacks.”  
  
“He’s still having them?”  
  
“Yeah. He’s not getting better. He’s having nightmares, too, and he’s been losing weight. D said we just need to get him out of there.”  
  
Pony nodded, his face lined with concern. “Oh, gosh. The poor thing. How’s he doing today?”  
  
“Better, actually. He even went outside for a bit.”  
  
“That’s good. Where’d he go?”  
  
“Just to the outhouse and back.”  
  
Poison stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked down at his feet, and Pony slowly cruised alongside him.  
  
“You know, I could teach him meditation,” Pony said.  
  
“What? Oh, no. Thank you. D mentioned that, but he can’t sit still long enough.”  
  
“I can teach him to sit still. It’s not that hard.”  
  
“Nah. He’s always been fidgety.”  
  
“All he has to do is lie down and close his eyes for twenty minutes. He can do that, right?”  
  
Poison pursed his lips in thought. His image of meditation had involved Buddhist monks sitting cross-legged for hours to find inner peace.  
  
“That’s it?” Poison said. “That’s all he has to do?”  
  
Pony nodded. “That’s it. I’ll guide him through the rest.”  
  
“You think it’ll help him?”  
  
“Oh, it’ll help him tons. That’s what I taught D, when we first met.”  
  
“Really? You taught him to meditate?”  
  
Pony beamed proudly. “Yup. That’s what got him out of his shack. He tells most people he pushed himself out of his own brute will, but it was really the meditation. I think it helped him find peace with what happened.”  
  
“Yeah?” Poison nodded thoughtfully. Against his will, hopeful images surfaced of Kobra walking calmly out of the room, so serene that he was almost floating.  
  
“All right. I’ll bring it up to him.”  
  
“You’ll ask Kobra?”  
  
“Yeah. We’ll give it a shot.”  
  
“Great! He’ll love it, Party. It’ll help him so much. When are we going to see him? Are we going now?”  
  
“Yeah. We’re going now.”  
  
Pony picked up speed and sped off down the highway, veering back and forth on the pavement. Poison smiled as he skated in sharp lines and curves, and even threw in a twirl.


	3. Chapter 3

Poison rapped on the door with his knuckles.  
  
“Who’s there?” Ghoul said from inside.  
  
“It’s us!” Poison said, rubbing his hands together. “Me and Pony!”  
  
There was a click, and the door opened to reveal Kobra standing inside. When he saw Pony, his face broke out into a grin.  
  
“Hey, babe!” Pony said, pulling him into a hug. “How are you? I heard you were still having those attacks.”  
  
“Yeah, I am.” Kobra patted his back. “It’s okay. How are you and D?”  
  
“Oh, we’re good. We’re really good. Hey!” he said as Ghoul stepped toward him. While Ghoul and Pony hugged, Poison took the key from Kobra and closed and locked the door. A pang of envy hit him when he noticed that Ghoul had talked Kobra into parting the curtains a few inches. Two strips of sunlight streamed into the room.  
  
Kobra and Ghoul sat down cross-legged on the floor in front of a plastic package that had been torn open and spread out. The package was stamped with the words _Meal Ready-To-Eat Individual,_ and a flameless heater lay off to the side. Sitting on the plastic were utensils, small packets, and an open package of chili.  
  
“Ghoul bought four of these on the side of the road,” Kobra said. “You won’t believe how much the guy was selling them for.”  
  
“Two carbons,” Ghoul said to Pony, holding up two fingers.  
  
“No way!” Pony said.  
  
“Yep. I saw this guy on the side of the road with a box that said _FOOD, 2C_. So I pulled over and looked inside, thinking he’s got cans of Pup or something, but he’s got packages of military food. I said ‘Do you realize that you could be selling these for ten carbons each?’ He got this shocked look on his face, then said ‘Eh, just take them for two, I’ve sold them to everyone else for two.’”  
  
Pony and Kobra laughed. “Do you guys want to try some?” Kobra said, gesturing to Poison and Pony with his fork.  
  
“Is there beef in there?” Pony said, leaning forward with his hands on his hips. “Oh, no. I can’t eat that. Got to stay trim.”  
  
“Do you want some, Poison? It’s pretty good, for military food. I’m wondering if it was made recently in another state and somehow made its way over here, because normally this stuff tastes like cardboard.”  
  
“I heard there’s still a U.S. military base in Utah,” Ghoul said as he took a bite of chili. “Might be one in Michigan, too, if it hasn’t been smoked out.”  
  
“Oh yeah? Hope not,” Kobra said, then turned back to Poison. “You interested?”  
  
“No thanks,” Poison said. “I had a sandwich in town. Oh, that reminds me—” He took the can of lime soda out of his bag and smiled. Kobra squinted at it for a moment, then his eyes widened in recognition.  
  
“Oh man!” he said, getting to his feet. “I haven’t had that in ages! Where’d you get it?”  
  
“They’ve got a diner in town with a whole stock of them.”  
  
“A whole stock?” He took the can and turned it around in in his hands. “How much was it?”  
  
“Just a carbon.”  
  
“One carbon?”  
  
“Yup. The guy said they get them from St. Andrew’s.”  
  
“Aww, lucky bastards. Did you get one?”  
  
“Yup, I did.” He pulled out the empty pineapple soda can. “I was going to sell the can, but I might just keep it instead. Don’t come across these too often.”  
  
“Yeah. Start a collection of them.”  
  
Kobra gave Poison a quick, one-armed hug, then sat back down and gestured for Pony and Poison to join him. Poison sat down next to him while he popped the tab, making the can hiss. Pony sat cross-legged next to Ghoul, laced his fingers together, and rested his chin in his hands.  
  
“How is it?” Poison said after Kobra took a drink.  
  
“Amazing,” he said.  
  
“I don’t like that look in your eye,” Ghoul said with a grin.  
  
“Oh no?” Kobra said.  
  
“You look like you’re about to sell all of us to the city in exchange for a truckload of fruit sodas.”  
  
“Well, I wouldn’t aim that low. I think you guys are worth a warehouse of soda, at least.”  
  
“I’m honored that you put such a high price on our lives.”  
  
“Yup. Only the best for you.”  
  
They exchanged grins, Kobra’s eyes sparkling. For a moment, it was like they were all relaxing back at the diner on an ordinary afternoon. Everyone was calm and well-fed, and the atmosphere was light. But unlike the others, Kobra couldn’t leave the room.  
  
“Ghoul got meals for you and Jet, too, by the way,” Kobra said. “What did you get again?”  
  
“Macaroni and cheese, and meatloaf,” Ghoul said distractedly. “I didn’t know which ones you guys would want, so you can just fight over it.”  
  
“Thanks,” Poison said. He and Ghoul made eye contact for a moment, then quickly looked away.  
  
After Kobra and Ghoul were finished eating, Pony said “So Party told me you were still having those nasty anxiety attacks.”  
  
“What?” Kobra said. “Oh. Yeah, I still haven’t kicked them yet.”  
  
“I think I know something that’ll help you.”  
  
“Oh yeah? What is it?”  
  
Pony cocked his head to the side. “Have you heard of meditation?”  
  
“Meditation? Isn’t that for monks or something?”  
  
Pony laughed. “No, honey. It’s just breathing exercises. It’ll help you relax.”  
  
“I don’t know about that, man.”  
  
“It worked for D.”  
  
“D does it? Really?”  
  
“Yup.” After he explained that meditation had helped Dr. Death Defying conquer his shell shock, Kobra started to look inquisitive. Ghoul wore a skeptical expression, but said nothing.  
  
“So how does it work?” Kobra said.  
  
“Lie down on the bed. I’ll show you.”  
  
“You want to do it now?”  
  
“Oh, sure. You can do it anywhere.”  
  
“There’s no hypnosis or mind control or anything involved, right?”  
  
Pony laughed. “No. No hypnosis or mind control.”  
  
Kobra thought for a moment, then stood up. “All right. Let’s give it a shot.”  
  
Pony grinned and clapped his hands together, then grabbed the chair next to the dresser and pushed it over to the bed. He extended a hand and gestured for Kobra to lie down like a guard inviting a princess into her limousine.  
  
“Well, I think I’m going to sit this one out,” Ghoul said, standing up as well. “I’ll be out in the hallway. You coming, Poison?”  
  
He gave Poison a significant look, and Poison shrunk back.  
  
“I-I’ll stay here,” he said. “I’m curious about this works.”  
  
Ghoul glared at him, then held back a sigh and marched out the door. Kobra’s face fell in disappointment until Pony touched his arm and told him to lie down.  
  
“Are you comfortable?” Pony said when Kobra was lying on the bed. The pillow was beneath his head, and his hands were folded on his stomach.  
  
“Yeah,” Kobra said. “How long is this going to take?”  
  
“About twenty minutes,” Pony said as he sat down on the chair. “Are you ready?”  
  
Kobra nodded with a slightly apprehensive look on his face.  
  
“Close your eyes, okay? Good.” Pony crossed his legs and cradled his chin in his hands. “Now, we’ll start with some breathing exercises. Take a deep breath. Good. Now hold it for eight seconds…”   
  
While Pony guided Kobra’s breathing, Poison leaned against the dresser and folded his arms. His eyes fell on the door. Ghoul was probably waiting in the hall, wondering if Poison would have the guts to come outside.   
  
_Stop it. Stop worrying about him._  
  
He turned away and focused on his bed instead. As Pony’s voice grew softer and dreamier, Poison’s eyes lost their focus and his mind started to wander…  
  
—-  
  
Poison burst out the front doors with Kobra’s helmet in one hand and a keyring in the other.  
  
“Hey, man,” Ghoul said. The orange-haired man was scraping sand off a tire with his fingernail and studying it. “Why are you closing the place up? Are you going somewhere?”  
  
“We both are. Come on.”  
  
“Going where? Supply run?”  
  
Poison unlocked the door and yanked it open. “This isn’t about supplies. Come on.”  
  
Ghoul looked at him strangely, then turned to the orange-haired man. “Time to head out, Current,” he said. “Thanks for all the help, man.” Current stood up, shook hands with Ghoul, waved at Poison, and headed off toward the road. Poison vaguely wondered how far he had to walk.  
  
“Everybody’s a forensic expert now,” Ghoul said as he climbed into the passenger’s seat. Poison reached back and placed Kobra’s helmet in the back seat. His jacket pocket bulged with the bulk of Kobra’s gun. “So where are headed?” Ghoul said as he tugged out his seatbelt.  
  
Poison switched on the ignition. “A couple of women just radioed me. We’re going to go find Kobra.”  
  
Ghoul froze, his mouth open. “Wait. _What?_ ”  
  
The tires crunched on sand as the car backed out of the parking space and pulled out on the road. “Yeah,” Poison said. “They know where he is. He’s still—he’s alive, but they need our help getting him out.”  
  
“Oh, man—no. Wait. How do you know they’re not lying?”  
  
“I talked to both of them. One of them was _with_ Kobra, Ghoul.”  
  
“How do you know?”  
  
“Because he told her all these stories about us.”  
  
“Like what?”  
  
“Uh…the tortoise story, for one. And the one about my hair turning green, and you throwing my transmitter out the window, and a bunch of others—there’s no way she’d know all this stuff.”  
  
“Dude, everyone knows those stories. She could have picked them up anywhere.”  
  
“What about the powdered milk story? Nobody knows that one! When have you ever heard that one repeated?”  
  
“Well, apparently he’s told _some_ people, if she knows about it.”  
  
“He was with her, Ghoul. I know he was.”   
  
“No, Poison—stop the car. Someone’s taking you for a ride.”  
  
“No, they’re not! It’s true! I know it is!”  
  
“How? How do you know that?”  
  
“Because I called Cherri, and Chimp, and Jet, and—”  
  
“Wait, you got them involved in this? Are you kidding me, Poison? Don’t you think they have better things to do than go on some wild goose chase?”  
  
“My point is, she told me that I could call as many people as I wanted to surround her location, so that we know she’s not lying!”  
  
“What if she’s just leading you to an empty house?”  
  
Poison’s expression froze. He went silent.  
  
“She’s not lying, Ghoul,” he said finally.  
  
“Man, you don’t know that.”  
  
“Yeah, I do, and I just told you why—”  
  
“Oh for God’s sake, man, we’ve been getting calls from crackpots all week! Why did you choose to believe this one woman who has no more evidence than the rest of them?”  
  
Poison’s voice became strained. “You didn’t hear her, Ghoul! You didn’t hear how sincere she was!”  
  
“ _Poison—”_ Ghoul stopped and took a few deep breaths. “Look, I know this has been hard on you, okay? I know it’s tempting to believe stuff like this. But chances are, you dragged everyone out here for some crazy old bat who’s just messing with you.”  
  
Poison didn’t respond.  
  
“This situation could be dangerous, too. What if she’s working for the people who took Kobra? What if she _is_ the person who took him? Maybe she’s trying to round up the rest of us!”  
  
Poison’s voice was hard. “Then at least he won’t be alone in that hellhole anymore.”  
  
Ghoul went silent. For several minutes, the only sound was the engine’s hum. The sky became so dim that Poison switched on the headlights.  
  
“Look, if you don’t want to be involved in this, I’ll take you back to the diner,” Poison said quietly.  
  
Ghoul shook his head. “Just be prepared for disappointment, man.”  
  
“I’m sorry. I just—this isn’t like the others, Ghoul.”  
  
Ghoul nodded with heavy eyes, then patted Poison’s arm.  
  
The stars had come out when they reached the house, and a crescent moon hung in the sky. Poison’s stomach twisted with the same combination of anticipation and apprehension that he’d felt when his transmitter buzzed. The house was a tall wooden shack with a pointed roof, a porch, and two curtained windows next to the door. A tall prickly cactus grew to the left of the porch steps. Poison parked next to Cherri Cola’s chipped dark green Ford, which was already parked in front of the house. When Poison stepped outside, he checked to make sure his gun was in its holster, and patted his pocket for Kobra’s gun. He noticed Ghoul checking his holster as well.  
  
“Well, there’s Chimp,” Cherri said, leaning against his car with his arms folded. Seconds later, a pair of headlights followed by DJ Hot Chimp’s white van cruised down the road. “How have you two been doing? I know it’s been especially hard on you,” he said to Poison.  
  
“Yeah,” Poison said distractedly. “Yeah, it’s been rough.”  
  
“Well, hopefully this nightmare is about to end.”  
  
One of the curtains was suddenly pulled back and a Japanese woman who appeared to be in her thirties peered through the window. _Doesn’t look like a crazy old bat,_ Poison thought with faint relief. A moment later, the door opened and a crack of light gleamed on the porch.  
  
“Please come in,” she said. “Just you, Party Poison. And you too, Fun Ghoul.”  
  
Cherri looked to Ghoul, who nodded once. “Keep your gun ready,” he murmured as they walked past.  
  
Poison and Ghoul trudged up the porch steps, then stepped into a small living room with furry white carpeting, a hexagonal wooden table, a dark blue couch and two patterned chairs, bookshelves, a lit ceiling light, and a lamp. Poison assumed that solar panels were mounted on the roof. To the right was a small kitchen with shiny floor tiles, a wooden table with four chairs crowded around it, salmon-colored walls, shelves and cabinets, an ancient fridge spattered with grime, and a sink.  
  
“Please sit down,” the woman said, leading them over to the kitchen table. She pulled out a chair and sat down, then waited while Poison and Ghoul joined her. She laced her fingers together, then gave a heavy sigh.  
  
“Well, I suppose I owe you both an explanation,” she said. “I’ll begin by introducing myself. My name is Dr. Mei Fujiwara.”  
  
“Are you a Killjoy?” Ghoul said.  
  
“I’m neutral. I left the city a few months ago.”  
  
“So why are you so involved in our business?”  
  
“Because I value the lives of innocent people.”  
  
“Innocent? We’re Killjoys. Don’t you city people think we’re all terrorists?”  
  
“I did once, but I’ve met some wonderful Killjoys here in the desert. So no, I don’t think you’re all terrorists.”  
  
Ghoul paused. “All right. Fine. So where the hell is Kobra?”  
  
“He was captured by a gang called the Blood Moons. They’re holding him captive in their hideout about ten miles west of here.”  
  
Poison’s stomach dropped. He leaned forward and pressed a hand to his forehead, a strained look on his face. Ghoul reached out and rubbed his shoulder.  
  
“So it’s true,” Poison said. “What do they want with him?”  
  
“It’s exactly what I thought,” she said. “He interfered with their illicit business.”  
  
“What illicit business? What’s going on?”  
  
Dr. Fujiwara hesitated, then quickly described the business the Blood Moons were involved in. When she was finished, Ghoul’s shoulders sagged and Poison sat with his arms folded on the tabletop, staring down at his reflection in the polished wood.  
  
“So these people have him?” Poison said quietly.  
  
“Yes. That’s what the women told me.”  
  
“Can we speak to these women?” Ghoul said.  
  
“I believe Poison already spoke to one of them on the phone.”  
  
“No, I don’t want to hear more stories. I want to see some actual proof that these women know him.”  
  
“One moment, please.” Dr. Fujiwara stood up and disappeared down the hallway. A few minutes later, a door creaked open and she murmured “Come on. It’s okay, dear.” She reappeared in the kitchen with a young woman wearing a short black dress, shiny black gloves and boots, and a clear plastic poncho. Her face was soft and delicate, and her hair was bright yellow.  
  
“Yellow,” Dr. Fujiwara said, “who was your seventh most recent customer?”  
  
“Michael Way,” she said in a timid voice.  
  
“Wait,” Poison said. “He _bought_ her?”  
  
“Oh, no,” Dr. Fujiwara said quickly. “Nothing like that. I’ll explain later.”  
  
“How do we know you didn’t just tell her to say that?” Ghoul said.  
  
Dr. Fujiwara took Yellow’s hand. “Begin administrative mode,” she said in a loud, clear voice.   
  
Yellow’s fingertips glowed blue, and the light dimmed from her eyes. Her facial expression became blank. “Palm ID accepted,” she said in a sterile voice. “Thank you, Dr. Mei Fujiwara. What would you like to do?”  
  
“Access ten most recent customers.”  
  
There was a pause. “Ten most recent customers found,” she said.  
  
“Yellow, who was your seventh most recent customer?”  
  
“Michael James Way,” she said. “Criminal ex-citizen, ID number 0-0-9-8-7-6-4-7.”  
  
“When did he purchase you?”  
  
“Seven days ago.”  
  
“Thank you.” She took her hand again. “End administrative mode.”  
  
Yellow’s fingertips glowed green, and her head dropped to her chest. Suddenly she straightened again, blinking and looking around with a confused expression on her face.  
  
“You can go back to your friends now, Yellow,” Dr. Fujiwara said kindly. Yellow gave her another confused look and shook her head slightly as if to say _I don’t know where to go._ Dr. Fujiwara led her back down the hallway, there was the sound of a door opening and closing, and she returned to the kitchen and resumed her seat at the table. A heavy silence hung in the air.  
  
“I hope that’s enough proof,” Dr. Fujiwara said. “I can assure you that that exchange wasn’t faked.”  
  
“She knew his old ID number,” Poison whispered to Ghoul. “How would she know that?”  
  
“Are you sure that was his ID?” Ghoul whispered back.  
  
“That sounded about right, yeah. I don’t remember the whole thing, but Mom made up these rhymes we used so we could remember them.”  
  
“Well, maybe she works for the city,” Ghoul said. “How do we know you’re not working for the city?” he said to Dr. Fujiwara.  
  
“If that were true, you would have already been arrested,” Dr. Fujiwara said.  
  
Ghoul drummed his fingertips on the table and thought for a few minutes. Finally he laced his fingers together. “All right,” he said. “I’m willing to accept that you _might_ be telling the truth.”  
  
“Thank you,” Dr. Fujiwara said.  
  
“So what’s your plan for getting him out of there?”  
  
“Buy him,” Poison said. “You bought the women. Right?”  
  
“They won’t sell him. I called them and asked.”  
  
“Why not?” Ghoul said. “They kidnapped him, but they’re against prostitution?”  
  
“I think it’s more about their message,” Dr. Fujiwara said. “According to the women, they told him they were sending a message with his kidnapping. If they can be bought off, it defeats the purpose.”  
  
“Bust him out of there, then,” Ghoul said. “We’ve got enough people, we can take him.”  
  
Dr. Fujiwara shook her head. “They’re affiliated with some of the nastier gangs. The last thing you want is to get involved in a gang war.”  
  
“Then what are we supposed to do? Just sit here with our thumbs up our asses until they get bored with him and decide to drop him off?”  
  
“Well, that’s why I brought you here. We need to formulate a plan. I know you Killjoys are a creative type.”  
  
“So you know where he is, but you can’t help us break him out of there?” Ghoul said. “God, this is bullshit. Poison, what are you looking at? Poison?” He slapped the table. “Poison!”  
  
Poison jumped and turned to Ghoul. He had been gazing down the direction of the hallway, the android girl floating through his mind…  
  
“Actually…” he said slowly. “I think I have an idea.”  
  
“You do? Great. I’m glad someone does. What is it?”  
  
He gestured toward Dr. Fujiwara. “Do you have a piece of paper? And a pen?”   
  
—-  
  
Kobra lay still on the bed with his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling evenly. Pony was watching him with his fingers laced together and his chin resting on his knuckles. Poison leaned against the dresser and watched Kobra with bated breath, half-expecting him to jerk awake in a cold sweat.  
  
“I think that’s enough for today,” Pony said.  
  
Kobra’s eyes fluttered open. He propped himself up on his elbows and pushed his hair out of his face.  
  
“How do you feel?” Pony said.  
  
“Not bad, actually. I was pretty calm.”  
  
“Good. I’m glad. Try to do that twice a day, okay?”  
  
“Wait—what? You want me to meditate twice a day?”  
  
Pony nodded solemnly. “It’ll help clear out all the junk in your head. Do it once in the morning, and once in the evening. And whenever you start to get anxious, _accept_ the anxiety. Okay? Don’t fight it. Fighting is bad.”  
  
“Accept it? What do you mean?”  
  
“Don’t fight it. Just go with it. Accept it. Once you do that, it won’t have any power over you anymore.”  
  
After Pony exchanged goodbyes and hugs with Poison and Kobra, Poison watched as he skated down the hallway, stumbling occasionally on the carpet. Just when he was about to close the door, he suddenly noticed Ghoul in the hallway, fixing Poison with an intense stare.  
  
“Poison, we need to talk,” he said.  
  
Poison shrunk back, a hand on the doorknob. “I can’t leave Kobra alone,” he said as he started to close the door.  
  
Ghoul stepped forward and grabbed the door. “He’ll be fine. We can’t keep putting this off, I promised him that I’d talk to you. Let’s go.”  
  
Poison turned desperately to Kobra, hoping he’d tell Poison to stay. But Kobra nodded enthusiastically and gestured for him to go outside.  
  
“Kid, we’ll just be a few minutes, okay?” Ghoul said, then closed the door, leaned against it, and folded his arms.  
  
“All right, so what the hell happened earlier?” Ghoul said.  
  
Poison gazed down the hallway. The sounds of conversation wafted from the front desk.  
  
“Hey. Look at me. What the hell happened?”  
  
Poison met Ghoul’s eyes. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, man,” he said finally.  
  
“What? What are you sorry for?”  
  
“I’m sorry I went off on you like that. You didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry.” He tucked his hands behind his back and swayed back and forth.  
  
Ghoul nodded. “All right,” he said quietly. “It’s okay. But what made you go off like that? I haven’t seen you that pissed in months.”  
  
“I just can’t put Kobra in danger, Ghoul.”  
  
“Yeah. I know.”  
  
“If the Sparklers attack, they might take Kobra again just to get back at us. You know they’ll blame him. That’ll be the first thing on their minds.”  
  
Ghoul paused. “Well, it doesn’t matter now anyway,” he said. “Someone must have tipped them off that they’re moving into Sparkler territory, because they headed off in the other direction. Cherri radioed me about it an hour ago.”  
  
“Oh yeah?” Poison’s shoulders sagged with relief. “Thank God.”  
  
“Yeah. Hey, I’m sorry I pushed the issue. I just don’t want to see anyone else get hurt like Kobra was, you know?”  
  
“Yeah,” Poison said softly. “I know. I don’t want that either. But if we piss them off, they’ll just get worse.”  
  
“I just wish we could _do_ something, man. They’re getting away with this.”  
  
“We got Kobra and the women out of there.”  
  
“Yeah, but they’ll just buy more. It’s not over.”  
  
Ghoul jammed his hands in his pockets and sighed.  
  
“You think he’ll be okay?” Ghoul whispered, nodding toward the door.  
  
Poison thought for a moment. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, he’s getting better. I know it’s slow, but—did he tell you that he went outside today?”  
  
“Yeah, he mentioned it. But what happens when he comes back to the diner? What if it just starts all over again?”  
  
“It won’t,” Poison said firmly. “He’s already calming down. He’ll be fine.”   
  
Ghoul looked like he wanted to say more, but he stopped himself and turned away.  
  
“Just make sure he relaxes while he’s here,” he said wearily. “Don’t tell him about this Sparklers thing. I don’t want anything to worry him.”  
  
“Right. Yeah.”  
  
“I’m gonna say goodbye to him,” he said. “If you ever need another break, just radio me and I’ll drive up here. I want to check on him from time to time anyway.”  
  
Poison nodded, then opened his arms. Ghoul wrapped his arms around him, and they hugged each other tight. After Ghoul said his goodbyes to Kobra, Poison watched him, his arms wrapped around himself, as he walked down the hallway and disappeared around the corner.  
  
“Did you make up with him?” Kobra said when Poison returned to the room.  
  
“Yeah. We’re good now.”  
  
“Good. I was worried about you guys.”  
  
“You don’t have to worry.” Poison sat down on the floor beside him. “Do you want to change your bandages? We haven’t done that yet today.”  
  
“What? Oh, yeah. Sure. Do you know how to do it?”  
  
“Yeah, I’ve been watching Jet. Let me get the stuff.”  
  
While Poison took the first-aid kit from the backpack, Kobra sat down on the floor and unraveled his bandages. He dropped the strip of gauze on the floor, where it lay like a shed snakeskin. Poison knelt down beside him and took his arm. The newest burn was still pink, while the oldest had nearly faded away. After gently washing the burns with soap and water, he unscrewed a crusty jar of Better Living antibacterial ointment and smoothed the mint green ointment over the burns. Kobra occasionally winced or pulled back slightly. When he was finished with the ointment, Poison snipped off a strip of gauze from the roll and carefully wound it around Kobra’s arm.  
  
“Is that good?” he said as Kobra turned his arm around and studied the bandages.  
  
“It’s perfect,” Kobra said. “I’d say you’ve mastered it.”  
  
“Good. I didn’t want them to be too tight.”  
  
“No, they’re not. They’re perfect.”  
  
After Poison zipped the first-aid kit back in the backpack and closed the safe, he found Kobra sitting on the edge of the bed, his brow furrowed in thought. His fingers were laced together, and he squeezed his hands together. Poison sat down next to him, rested his hands on his knees, and waited.  
  
“Do you ever wonder how I got these burns?” Kobra said, picking at the bandage.  
  
“You told me,” Poison said as he gently removed his hand.  
  
“Yeah, I told you _why,_ but—they used to come in once a day and do this. It scared the shit out of me. Whenever the women were gone, I’d start panicking, never knowing if they were going to come in or not.”  
  
Kobra placed a hand on the bandage, and Poison draped an arm around his shoulders. Kobra leaned his head against his shoulder.  
  
“You don’t have to tell me this, kiddo,” Poison said softly. “Ghoul and I just talked about this in the hall. We don’t want you to get upset.”  
  
“No, it’s—I just need to get it out,” Kobra said. “I’ve been carrying this shit around ever since I came back. It’s like this lead weight, pressing down in my brain.”  
  
Poison was silent.  
  
“You know, we can look for therapists again when we get back—” he said finally.  
  
“I don’t want to talk to a therapist,” Kobra said, shaking his head.  
  
“I can call Dr. D—”  
  
“Dude, I don’t want to talk to Dr. D.” Kobra leaned forward and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just let me tell you, man. Please.”  
  
Poison shifted uncomfortably and took a shaky breath. Kobra reached over and patted his hand.  
  
“Look,” he said gently. “I know this isn’t easy for you. If you really don’t want me to tell you, I won’t. But I need to tell somebody. I’ve never told anyone the whole story.”  
  
Poison paused. “All right, kiddo,” he said finally. “Tell me.”  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
“Yeah. Yeah, I need to know anyway. I can’t take care of you if I don’t know what happened.”   
  
Kobra smiled faintly at him. “Okay!” he said in the loud voice that he always used when beginning a story. “Well, I was driving down the road to the children’s shelter…”


	4. Chapter 4

The wind whipped on either side of Kobra as he zoomed down the road, the motorcycle’s engine humming steadily. His first shift at the children’s shelter would begin in ten minutes, where he had agreed to work until they found a replacement caretaker. Five carbons a day, the woman on the transmitter had promised. He could buy cans of food for the guys, a sack of flour, salt from the coast, a package of candles, thread to sew a tear on Ghoul’s jacket. But he’d have to open up first. Lose his shyness around the children. How did Ghoul and Poison speak to them so naturally? Maybe he could start by smiling, introducing himself, and asking for their names…  
  
“ _Help!_ ” a woman shrieked, her voice distorted by the wind. “ _Someone help me! Please!_ ”  
  
A shape appeared on the horizon, made vague and hazy by the heat rising off the pavement. When the shape came into view, Kobra saw that it was a woman wearing a short black dress.  
  
“ _Help!_ ” she said. “ _Please! Anyone!_ ”  
  
Kobra slowed to a halt and parked on the side of the road. He took off his helmet and laid it on the seat, then hurried over to the woman.  
  
“What is it?” he said quickly. “What’s wrong?”  
  
The woman took him by the shoulders and tried to speak, but she was choking on frightened sobs. Kobra grabbed her shoulders and tried to hold her steady. She wore a short black dress, knee-high black boots, shiny elbow-length black gloves, and a clear plastic poncho with a hood. Her hair was cropped to her chin and bright blue. She had large eyes, a small nose, and full lips: a generically pretty face that looked like it had been fashioned by a plastic surgeon.  
  
“Hey,” Kobra said, narrowing his eyes. “Aren’t you one of those pornodroids?”  
  
“I-I am,” she blubbered. “Please, we must leave now. My f-friends are still trapped in the—”  
  
“ _HEY!_ ” a man’s voice shouted. The woman shrieked and clutched Kobra. “Stop right there! What the hell are you doing?”  
  
Kobra yanked his gun out of its holster and stepped back, pointing it in the direction the voice had come from.  
  
“Put that gun down,” the voice said. A man came into view. He was tall, with a mop of black hair, a scruffy face, and a hard jaw. He wore black jeans and a dark reddish-brown jacket dotted with silver studs. “Did you find a customer already, Blue?”  
  
Whimpering, the woman backed away and started to run down the highway, but the man whipped his gun out of its holster and pointed it at her.  
  
“Make one move and you’re fried, lady,” he said. She shrieked and buried her face in her hands.  
  
“What are you doing with her?” Kobra shouted.  
  
“I don’t think this concerns you.” The man walked forward until he was three feet away from Kobra. “Put the gun down.”  
  
“Let her go.”  
  
“Kid, just get out of here.”  
  
“I’m not going anywhere! What the hell did you do to her and her friends?”  
  
“Chill out. They’re just androids.”  
  
Part of Kobra wanted to climb back onto his motorcycle and drive away. She was just an android. Did it really matter? But the thought of the woman’s sobbing, terrified face kept him in place.  
  
The man groaned. “Kid, don’t make me do this.”  
  
Kobra didn’t move.  
  
“All right. You’re leaving me with no choice. Put the gun down.”  
  
“No.”  
  
The man pointed his gun at the woman, who cried out. “Put it down, or I’ll shoot her.”  
  
Kobra looked back at the woman, who was shaking violently. He placed his gun on the seat next to his helmet, then stepped back with his hands raised. His stomach lurched.  
  
“There you go. Now come on, you’re coming with me.”  
  
“ _What?_ ”  
  
“I told you, you’re leaving me with no choice. You get over here too, Blue.”  
  
“No!” Kobra started to hyperventilate. “Oh God, don’t do this, please—” Images flashed through his mind of the man driving him out to the middle of the desert and shooting him. Or tying him to a cactus and leaving him to fry in the sun. Or burying him alive…  
  
“Whoa, there. Calm down. I don’t need you passing out on me. I’m not going to kill you, just follow me.”  
  
Kobra’s legs shook as he followed the man down the road. His motorcycle, gun, and helmet lay abandoned near the highway. What if someone stole them? But those fears were whisked away at the thought of a cramped steel room, knives cutting into his flesh, a fist colliding with his jaw, hunger pains echoing in his stomach…Blue linked her arm with his and walked beside him, whimpering quietly. _Stay strong for the girl,_ he thought as he swallowed the acid that had crept up his throat.  
  
The man led him to a dark red pick-up truck with an aluminum trailer hooked to the bumper. The door was secured with a heavy lock. A pair of eyes peered out of a window near the roof of the trailer.  
  
“I’m coming back, and I’ve got a prisoner,” the man shouted when he reached the door. “Don’t make any more escape attempts unless you want trouble, which I know you don’t!”  
  
He took a key from a pocket inside his jacket, then paused. “Hang on,” he said. He ripped the transmitter off Kobra’s belt, threw it on the ground, and stomped on it. Kobra cringed as the wires and plastic crunched beneath the man’s boot. “There we go,” the man said. “Thought I wouldn’t notice.” Then he unlocked the door, swung it open, and pushed Kobra and Blue inside.  
  
Four other women were crowded inside the trailer, all wearing clothing identical to Blue’s. A purple-haired woman was peeking out the window on her tiptoes; she immediately stepped down when Kobra and Blue entered the trailer. Her facial features were slightly sharper, with a pointed nose. A yellow-haired woman sat in the corner with her legs straight out, an empty expression on her soft, round face. A green-haired woman sat crossed-legged beside her, looking at her compassionately. She had soft lips and long eyelashes. Standing in the corner near the door was an orange-haired woman with her arms crossed, glaring at the door through shadowy eyes.  
  
The women’s faces lit up in shock when Kobra entered the trailer. Even the yellow-haired woman looked up in surprise.  
  
Grinning, the purple one extended a hand. Kobra couldn’t tell if her smile were fake or genuine. “Hello there,” she said.  
  
“Wonderful,” the orange-haired woman said. “That’s what we needed. Another one.”  
  
The truck engine roared, and the trailer started to move. Acid rose in Kobra’s stomach again. He wanted to collapse on the floor, but Blue was still clinging to his arm.  
  
“Are you okay?” the green haired-woman said in a soft voice.  
  
Kobra was too dazed to respond. Blue sniffed and wiped her eyes.  
  
“Come here,” she said, her voice warm and melodious. She extended her arms. Kobra hesitated, then sat down next to her and let her wrap her arms around his shoulders. Blue sat down beside him and drew her knees up to her chest.  
  
“I’m so glad that you’re here,” Green said, then ran a hand down his arm. When she reached the end of his sleeve, her fingers stroked up and along his skin. Her fingers were as soft as real human flesh. Kobra tried not to flinch. “I don’t recognize this material,” she said. “Who’s your builder?”  
  
“My builder?” Kobra said. “Oh, I’m not an android. I’m human.”  
  
“A human? Oh, that’s wonderful. Are you a customer?”  
  
Kobra laughed shortly. “No, uh—actually, I was thrown in here for trying to help your friend.”  
  
Nausea surged in Kobra’s stomach as a horrible realization hit him. Would he be forced to sell himself along with the women?  
  
“Oh. I see.” Green’s eyes dimmed slightly. “Well, I hope that we won’t be prisoners for long.”  
  
“Destroya will save us,” Purple woman said, and the others nodded.  
  
“I don’t believe that you’ve told us your name,” Green said. “What’s your name?”  
  
“Kobra Kid,” Blue blurted out. “This is Kobra Kid.”  
  
Green and Purple gasped. Yellow lifted her head slightly, and Orange allowed surprise to appear on her face for a moment.  
  
“Is Party Poison your brother?” the Green said. Kobra smiled fondly and nodded. “I love your brother’s mask! I bought one from a vending machine, and everyone said it looked just wonderful on me.”  
  
“That’s great,” Kobra said. He started to say _I’ll have to tell him that,_ but the words died on his lips. He sank back against the wall of the trailer.  
  
“My friend Red loved Party Poison,” Blue said softly. “She owned a whole stack of Party Poison comic books. We kept them in our freezer, since we had no need for food.”  
  
“They have those in the city?” Kobra said. “The comics, I mean.”  
  
“In the Lobby, yes. People are not so concerned what happens there.”  
  
Her features sagged with a deep sadness. Kobra smiled sadly.  
  
“Well, people care in the desert,” he said. “Or at least, some of us do.”  
  
She nodded as she wiped her eyes. As Kobra patted her shoulder, something occurred to him.  
  
“Hey, doesn’t your power short out when you leave the city?” he said. “How did you guys make it out this far?”  
  
Blue flinched and bunched her hands together in her lap.  
  
“Hey,” he said with concern. “I’m sorry. What’s wrong?”  
  
“Her friend Red died that way,” Purple said. “She crossed the power line.”  
  
“ _Oh_ ,” Kobra said, his mouth opening with realization. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”  
  
“Thank you,” Blue said.  
  
“People die out here every day, but…it never gets easier, y’know? Especially when it’s someone close to you.”  
  
“That’s true. Some days I still wake up and wish I had never been built.” She smiled through her tears. “But I know that she has not abandoned me. Not entirely.”  
  
Kobra was about to respond when the trailer slid to a halt with a violent lurch. They were jerked back and forth, and Purple nearly toppled to her feet. The engine cut out, footsteps crunched around the side of the trailer, and the lock clicked open. Kobra held his breath as the door opened and sunlight streamed inside.  
  
“Let’s go, ladies,” the man said. “You too, you little rascal.”  
  
Kobra trembled as he staggered toward the doors. Blue climbed to her feet, then took both of Yellow’s hands and pulled her to her feet. Yellow swayed unsteadily for a moment, then allowed Blue to place an arm around her shoulders and lead her outside. Two men and a woman with identical reddish jackets stood outside with their arms folded and watched the group as they passed. The woman had white-blonde hair tied back in a ponytail and sharp eyes.  
  
“Wait,” the woman said when Kobra stepped outside. “Where did he come from? Do they make fake rebel ‘droids now?”  
  
“Nah, he’s real,” the man said. “Tried to interfere with business.”  
  
“What are you doing with him? You can’t sell him!”  
  
“I’m not going to sell him. I’m just going to teach him a lesson he can share with the other rebels.”  
  
“But he’ll see what’s going on in here!”  
  
“I hope he does see it. And then he can tell all his friends about what happens when you interfere.”  
  
Kobra’s stomach lurched again, and he nearly vomited in the sand. Green placed a hand on his back and rubbed it gently.  
  
They climbed up rickety stone steps into an ancient brick building with cracked windows and bare shutters. A few chips of green paint still clung to the shutters, which had lost most of its paint from years of sandstorms. Grains of sand were crusted around the bricks, and a rusty mailbox stood near the road. A dark red banner with a silver crescent moon flapped over one of the windows.  
  
The man directed them through a kitchen with wide windows, dull steel sinks, a creaky wooden table, and an unlit ceiling light, where he grabbed a plastic bucket from under a kitchen sink. Then he led them down a hallway with grey carpeting, and finally into a small room off to the left.  
  
“Here you are, ladies,” he said, dropping the bucket next to the doorway. “This bucket’s for our little troublemaker over there. He’ll know what to do with it. And you better cool it with the escape plans, because there’s a camera up there watching your every move.” He pointed to the ceiling, where a security camera was mounted in the corner. “I don’t have to tell you that you’ll be in trouble if you pull anything. Enjoy your stay.” He closed the door, and a lock clicked.  
  
The room was empty except for an old wooden dresser and three stained mattresses. The carpet was light brown, with pale patches that showed where furniture had once stood. The walls were a pale yellow hue. A dry smell like old paint filled the room. While Purple walked over to the dresser and started pulling open drawers, Blue guided Yellow to one of the mattresses, where she obediently sat down. Orange stood in the corner and scowled, and Green sat down next to Yellow.  
  
As Kobra surveyed the room, the reality of the situation hit him full force. He was trapped in a small room in an unknown location crawling with gang members, with no weapon or transmitter. The children’s shelter probably wouldn’t report his absence, thinking him lazy or forgetful, so Poison and the others wouldn’t know he was gone for at least another five hours. When they did, all they would find was his motorcycle, helmet, and gun—if they hadn’t been stolen—with no hint directing them to his location. And what horrors were this gang planning? Would they beat him and kick him until he bled? Force himself to sell his body to strangers? Starve him until he was curled up on the floor, moaning from hunger? What if he never saw his brother and his friends again, all because he happened to encounter an escaped android?  
  
 White spots appeared in front of his vision, and his hands started to shake. His heart pounded and his stomach burned, and an uncontrollable panic welled inside him, rising hard and fast and growing more intense by the second. He looked frantically around the room for an escape, but the security camera blinked ominously at him. _Oh God, oh God, get me out of here!_ he screamed internally. Every nerve in his body was on fire, an explosion of cold terror, but he couldn’t move.  
  
“Are you okay?” Green said. When he didn’t respond, peered closely at him. “You’re so pale, Kobra! Come on! You must lie down!”  
  
She took his limp hand and led him over to the second mattress, then sat next to him and held his hand while he lay there. Jolts of panic coursed through him like electricity, sizzling his nerves. Acid rose up in his throat, but he choked it down. This was it, he was done. He would die not as an old man reflecting back on his heroic years, but soon, today even, in an empty room that smelled like paint.  
  
“Shh,” Green whispered, brushing his hair back. “Shh, now.” Poison had comforted Kobra in the same way, especially when they left the city two decades ago, when he had been a frightened teenager in the vast, mysterious desert. The thought soothed Kobra, but panic still fizzled through his nerves, leaving him sore and hollow.  
  
 _I’m going to be tortured to death in a room full of beautiful women,_ Kobra thought. _What a fucked-up way to die.  
  
_ Eventually, Kobra raised his head and pushed himself to a sitting position. His limbs were shaky and weak, and a vague acidic nausea still swirled in his stomach. After he pushed his hair from his face, he noticed that Blue was sitting on the floor, watching him.  
  
“Is he alive?” Orange said from the corner.  
  
“I believe so,” Green said.  
  
Blue’s eyes were full of tears. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “It’s my fault that you were brought here. I never should have escaped.”  
  
Kobra shook his head. “It’s not your fault,” he said gently. “I would’ve done the same thing, to be honest.”  
  
“I suppose so.”  
  
“How did you guys get here, anyway? What happened?”  
  
She wiped her eyes on her latex glove. The tears beaded there, unable to be absorbed. “We were gathered around a drinking fountain near one of the vertical strip malls. A woman in a black suit approached us and asked if we were looking for customers. When we said yes, she invited us to a waiting bus, which she said would transport us to a construction zone near the edge of the city.” Tears prickled in her eyes again. “But the bus did not stop at the border. It kept going and going, and the driver did not stop. Then it reached an abandoned car wash and forced us to get inside a trailer that had been parked inside.” She hiccupped. “And now we are here.”  
  
“Oh my God,” Kobra said. “I’m so sorry.” She tried wiping her eyes on her gloves again, and he pulled his bandana out of his jacket pocket and handed it to her. She stared at it. “Here,” he said. “Use this.”  
  
“Thank you,” she said, wiping her face on the bandana. “You are very kind.”  
  
“Eh, I’m not that kind. But you’re welcome.”  
  
Just as Kobra was tucking it back in his pocket, the door burst open.  
  
“Lunchtime, ladies,” the man said, holding a rectangular plastic package. “What’s your battery levels?”  
  
They automatically gave different answers at once.  
  
“Whoa, whoa, let’s do this one at a time.” He pointed at Orange. “You, the orange one. Go.”  
  
“Fifty-eight percent,” she said coldly.  
  
“You’ll be good for another month. Purple?”  
  
She toyed with a hairbrush she had found in the dresser. “Seventy-two percent,” she said lightly.  
  
“Even better. Yellow?”  
  
“Six percent,” she said in a dull voice.  
  
“All right, you need a power up.” The man tore off a corner of plastic and pulled out a small white box with a black plus sign, which he tossed to her. It bounced off her chest and landed on the mattress. “What about you, Green?”  
  
“Eleven percent,” she said.  
  
“You could use one, too.” He tossed her a box. “And you, Blue?”  
  
“Ninety-seven percent.”  
  
“Awesome. And for the human—” He pulled two packages out of his pocket and tossed them to Kobra. “Make it last, little man, because it’s all you’re getting today.”  
  
The door slammed shut. Kobra examined the packages: a white carton with the Better Living logo and the words _BL/ind Nutrient Drink_ printed on the front, with a plastic-wrapped straw taped to the side, and a white tube of _BL/ind Nutrient Substance: Red Bean Flavor._ His stomach growled, but he shoved them in his jacket pockets. _Save it for when you’re starving,_ he thought desperately.  
  
“Free Plus!” Green exclaimed, holding up her box. “Oh, how wonderful!” Despite his anxiety, Kobra couldn’t help but feel slightly relieved. This dispelled an earlier theory that the androids would be dissembled for spare parts.  
  
“Don’t be an idiot,” Orange said. “Do you think they care about helping you?”  
  
“They must, if they’re not charging us,” Green said lightly as she opened the cardboard box. “A whole package of Plus must have cost a fortune.”  
  
“Because they want you to be good and powered up for whatever they’re going to do to us.”  
  
Green didn’t respond. She took out a plastic white cube with a black plus sign on one side and rows of thin gold prongs on the other. She unzipped the back of her dress and turned to Blue, who took the box and slid the prongs into a field of holes on the base of her neck. There was a clicking sound, and the plus sign turned neon blue. Kobra cringed.  
  
“Could someone take care of Yellow, please?” Green said, her voice luminous with pleasure. Purple placed her hair brush back in the dresser and headed over to Yellow, who sat motionless like a doll.  
  
“Is she okay?” Kobra whispered to Blue.  
  
“Oh yes, she’s fine,” Blue whispered back. “She’s programmed to be passive. I suppose the last person turned her to the lowest setting.”  
  
“Could someone turn it up?” Kobra made a twisting motion with his hand, as if turning a dial.  
  
“If they purchased her, yes. Do you have any money?”  
  
“How much?”  
  
“A Yellow is a hundred carbons, I believe.”  
  
“A hundred carbons? Oh, yeah. That’s not going to happen. Is there anything else you can pay with?”  
  
Blue thought for a moment. “Some models accept a supply of Plus as payment.”  
  
“Plus? All right. Perfect. Hang on,” he said to Purple, who was taking the Plus out of the cardboard box. “Do you mind if I do it?”  
  
“Be my guest,” she said, handing him the Plus. He knelt on the mattress in front of Yellow.  
  
“Hey,” he said. “I’d like to, uh—” He turned to Blue. “How do I do this? I don’t know what to say.”  
  
“Tell her that you’d like to purchase her,” Blue said.  
  
“Okay. Uh…I’d like to purchase you. If that’s okay.”  
  
For the first time, her head turned so that she was facing someone. “That will be one hundred carbons,” she said, making direct eye contact. “Do you have sufficient funds, sir?”  
  
He held up the Plus. “I have this. Is that enough?”  
  
“That will be sufficient. What is your name, sir?”  
  
“Uh—Kobra Kid.”  
  
“Searching for Kobra Kid,” she said. There was a pause, and her eyes momentarily went blank. “I have a Michael Way, also known as Kobra Kid,” she said.  
  
“Yeah, that’s me.”  
  
“Excellent.” She turned and pushed her hair back, then unzipped the back of her dress. “You’re paying with Plus, correct?”  
  
“Y-yeah. I am.”  
  
“Excellent. Please slide the prongs into the slots you see at the base of my neck.”  
  
Kobra winced as he pushed the prongs into the slots until there was a satisfying click and the plus sign glowed blue.  
  
Yellow turned back around. “Thank you, sir. How may I fulfill your most intimate desires?”  
  
“Oh—I don’t want to have sex. I just want to adjust your passivity level.”  
  
“Of course, sir. Would you like to access Settings?”  
  
She extended a hand and gave him an inviting look. Kobra grasped her hand, and her fingertips glowed blue. Then her expression went blank.  
  
“Accessing Settings,” she said. “For altering skin temperature, say ‘One.’ For adjusting passivity level, say ‘Two.’ For—”  
  
“Two,” Kobra said quickly.  
  
“Thank you. Which passivity level would you like? Zero is the minimum, and ten is maximum.”  
  
“Uh…zero, I guess.”  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Thank you. Passivity level is now zero. Would you like to continue making changes, or return to normal mode?”  
  
“Return to normal mode.”  
  
She extended her hand again, and he took it. Her fingertips glowed green, and her head dropped to her chest. Then she looked up at him again. “Thank you, sir,” she said. “Now, shall we get your intimate desires underway?”  
  
“Oh, no,” he said quickly. “I just wanted to change your level. I’m good.”   
  
“You’re done already, sir? But you’ve paid for three hours of bliss.”  
  
“Three _hours?”  
  
_ “If you’re unsure of how to proceed, I could fill some time by listing other related products available from Better Living.”  
  
“I—” He started to refuse, but how else would he pass the time in this prison? “Yeah. Sure. Go ahead.”  
  
“Thank you. Better Living’s newest releases are Black and White, who provide completely opposite but equally gratifying experiences. Black fulfills your natural instincts, your deepest needs, your darkest desires. Nothing is out of the question for a Black.”  
  
“I hate Blacks,” Orange said, still standing in the corner. “They have such horrid attitudes.”  
  
“I think Blacks are lovely,” Green said.  
  
“I agree,” Yellow said. “A Black costs 1,500 carbons, which a small price to pay for the depraved pleasures you will receive.”  
  
Kobra shuddered.  
  
“A White, on the other hand, is the essence of purity. She is the untouched virgin, the freshly fallen snow. She will take you to a place of holy, reverent bliss…”  
  
Kobra spent the next few hours listening to Yellow describe Better Living products, watching Purple and Orange argue over a hairbrush, entertaining the group with stories about his life as a Killjoy, and trying to ignore the gnawing hunger pains in his stomach. Sometimes he would forget his anxiety for a few minutes, but it always came rushing back at full force, fraying his nerves and burning an acid hole in his stomach. _Stay strong for the women,_ he repeated to himself. _Don’t freak out, just stay strong for them…  
  
_ “This wasn’t a small tortoise, either. This tortoise was _huge,_ ” Kobra said, holding his hands apart to indicate the size. Purple, Blue, Yellow, and Green all sat in front of him, listening intently. Even Orange was listening from her corner. “So of course, the first thing that comes to Ghoul’s mind is ‘Hey, I should ride it!’”  
  
Everyone laughed except Orange. Green and Yellow giggled softly, while Blue laughed in a friendly way, and Purple howled with delight.  
  
 “So he sat down on the shell, thinking it’d move slowly, but it takes off out of fucking nowhere. Ghoul falls right back on his ass, and he just sits there, shocked, like a little kid who—”  
  
The door opened, and the laughter abruptly ceased. Kobra turned to see a slightly chubby man in a studded red jacket. Light blonde hair flopped over his forehead, and he had a prominent nose and a soft chin. A white gun poked out of the holster strapped to his hip, and he wore thick, rubbery gloves. Something about his poise suggested that he was the leader.  
  
“Where’s the straggler?” he said in a hoarse voice. “Get over here.” He pointed to Kobra, who shakily rose to his feet and staggered over to the man. He swallowed acid, his heart pounding. “And you come over here too, Blue. I need to talk to both of you.”  
  
As Blue wrapped her arms around herself and shuffled over to the man, two other gang members slipped into the room: the woman with a ponytail, and a man with heavy eyebrows and a buzz cut. The woman closed the door behind them. Both had identical white guns in their holsters.  
  
“I heard you tried to escape,” the leader said. “What you don’t understand is that we run a business here. We can’t have people skipping out on us. Everyone does their fair share.”  
  
Blue nodded and clutched Kobra’s arm, whimpering. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, fixing the man with a hard stare.  
  
“I need to teach you a little lesson, so you won’t forget. Stand back, son,” he said, nodding toward Kobra.  
  
“What are you going to do?” Kobra snarled as the man took out his ray gun.  
  
“Get him off of her, will you?” the leader said to his guards. “We don’t need him getting zapped.”  
  
The man and the woman grabbed Kobra’s arms and started to pull him away. He struggled and tried to tighten his grip, but they pried him off Blue and stood five feet away, gripping his upper arms hard enough to bruise.  
  
“I hope this is a lesson to all of you,” the leader said. He pushed a slide on the bottom of the ray gun so that it was at its lowest setting.  
  
“No!” Kobra cried out and lunged forward, just as a white-hot bolt shot out of the gun and hit Blue in the face. Sparks exploded all over her body, jittering across her skin, and her limbs went straight and rigid while her face froze in a silent scream. There was a spurting, sizzling sound, and she collapsed on the floor. Green burst into tears and she and Yellow squeezed each other, while Orange and Purple lunged toward the leader.  
  
“No!” the woman shouted as she and the man yanked out their guns. “Stay there!”  
  
“She’ll be fine,” the leader said dully. “It’s just a warning. And as for you, son…”  
  
In one swift movement, he pulled back the clutch at the end of the gun and popped open the case, then took out a ridged box-shaped object. A bright orange light pulsed in the center. _The charger,_ Kobra thought absently. Before he could react, the man had jammed the remains of the gun in his holster, then grabbed Kobra’s right arm, forced up his sleeve, and pressed the charger onto the bare flesh. White hot agony seared on his sizzling skin, and Kobra screamed. He was vaguely aware of Green and Yellow shrieking in the background.  
  
When the leader released him, he fell back and collapsed on the ground next to Blue. A throbbing pink square was imprinted on his flesh, still burning hot. Kobra clamped a hand over the burn and writhed on the ground, a few tears squeezing out of his eyes. The gang members walked out of the room without another word.


	5. Chapter 5

One woman grabbed Kobra’s shoulders and another grabbed his legs, and they hauled him over to the mattress. The mattress sunk beside him as Blue was laid beside him, still unconscious.  
  
“Is she okay?” Kobra said urgently, sitting up and staring down at her.  
  
“She’ll be fine,” Green said softly, placing a hand on his arm. “Low-charge shots are not fatal.”  
  
“But it looked horrible! Did it fry her brain? Is it going to mess up her software?”  
  
“We were built to be more resilient than that,” Orange said, standing next to the mattress. “We had to be, with so many customers taking their anger out on us.”  
  
Kobra went silent. Clutching his arm, he turned away, tears still prickling in his eyes.  
  
The next morning, the first order came in. Everyone was still asleep, with Purple on the first mattress, Green and Yellow on the second, and Kobra and Blue on the third. Orange slept sitting on the floor, leaning upright against the dresser. While Kobra had fought for hours to get to sleep, his arm burning and his stomach churning, the androids simply laid down and said “Activate Sleep Mode.” Then they fell silent and still. A knot twisted in Kobra’s stomach at the abrupt reminder that they were only robots after all. The room was pitch black. He was alone.  
  
When the door creaked open, Kobra blearily lifted his head, then jerked awake. In his sickly haze from only an hour of sleep, he thought the man had come to murder him. But instead, the man switched on the ceiling light, then said “We’ve got our first customer, ladies. Wake up. Come on, everyone out.”  
  
There were several light beeping sounds, followed by smooth, quiet hums as the androids switched back on. They rubbed their eyes and moaned and threw their arms over their faces to block the light.  
  
“Stop moaning, come on. He’s not going to wait around here all day. And grab a couple of hairbrushes, will you? You ladies gotta look nice.”  
  
They pushed themselves to their feet and stumbled out the door, exchanging hairbrushes that Purple had taken from the dresser and pulling them through their hair. Blue walked with her head hung low, her arms folded, and her shoulders hunched, as if trying to make herself appear smaller. She had adopted that stance ever since last night’s electrocution. Kobra frowned, his brow creased in concern.  
  
The man closed the door and he sat on the mattress, suddenly aware of how empty and silent the room was. The silence pressed against his ears in a vague dull roar. His nerves flared up, and his hands started to shake. The man could come back any time and burn him again, or take him outside and shoot him, and no one would know…  
  
The door creaked open and the women filed inside: first Purple, then Orange, Green, and Blue. Kobra narrowed his eyes.  
  
“Where’s Yellow?” he said.  
  
“She’s with the customer,” Purple said. “He wanted her. The rest of us didn’t brush our hair enough, I suppose.” She fluffed her hair.  
  
“She’s—gone? Permanently?”  
  
“Oh, no. Just until he’s through with her. Which shouldn’t take long. It rarely does.”  
  
Kobra felt a different kind of nausea, one not borne from anxiety.  
  
“Everyone wants the Yellows,” Orange said. “So passive. I say they’re boring. Not a shred of personality to be found.”  
  
Blue sat down next to Kobra and laid her head on her shoulder. “I could tell that you are nervous,” she whispered. “You need not be nervous. You will never be called out of the room.”  
  
“Yeah,” Kobra said softly. “Yeah, I guess.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and they sat in silence.  
  
Kobra lost track of the number of times the women were called out of the room throughout the week. Sometimes only one didn’t return, and other times it was two or three. After a short twenty-minute session, they usually marched back in, sat down, and started brushing their tousled hair. If they were gone for an hour or more, they shuffled back in the room and collapsed on a mattress while another woman brushed their hair. If Blue had been called, she shuffled back in with her head bowed and sat down beside Kobra.  
  
“Destroya must smile upon you,” she once murmured. “I am glad that you were not born like one of us.”  
  
Kobra didn’t tell her that when the women lined up and exited the room, Kobra’s muscles tensed and his stomach churned. Sometimes they shuffled back into the room without incident, but other times they were made to wait while the leader strode into the room. The man forced Kobra to his knees while the woman crammed a bandana in his mouth and wrenched his left arm behind his back. The leader pulled the charger from his gun and held it above Kobra’s arm. Kobra trembled violently as the charger hovered against his skin, then pressed down and seared his flesh. He bit down on the bandana, squeezed his eyes shut, and held back a scream.  
  
“Let this be a message to you,” the leader said. “We don’t take kindly to interference.”  
  
Eventually, the women started to notice the leader and his guards marching off to their room while they waited in a line in the kitchen. “It’s nothing,” Kobra said, trying to keep his voice steady. “He just trash talks me.” He was careful to never take his jacket off around the women. Whenever they left the room, he quickly yanked up his sleeve and studied the burns for any swelling or pus.  
  
As he pulled a brush through Blue’s tangled hair one night, he thought about smashing it into the leader’s face, his nose crunching as blood splattered on his jacket. Then he’d dash out the door before the guards could react, beckoning for the women to follow him as he hurried out of the house. The gang would follow them, but he had a chance. Exhilaration seared through his veins as he imagined his feet pounding against the sand, the sun beating against his head, the gang members screaming and firing lasers that he dodged and jumped until the gang was just a cluster of pinpricks screaming in the distance…  
  
Whenever the women headed out of the room, Kobra’s mind raced. If he dashed outside now, he would catch everyone off guard. He could whip down the hallway and out the door like a speeding red bullet. But the burns throbbed on his arm. What would they do to him if they caught him? Maybe they’d press the charger against his arm until his flesh bubbled and seared. Or kick him in the ribs until something snapped and he screamed in agony. Or deprive him of food until he shriveled into a starved husk. Or maybe they would go straight for Blue and shoot another charger into her system. He couldn’t risk it. _You coward,_ he thought when the women came back in. _You pathetic fucking coward._  
  
At the start of each day, the black-haired man opened the door and tossed on the floor a drink carton and a package of Nutrient Substance. Kobra took his first bite and sip right away, to calm the growling in his stomach that had plagued his dreams. The drink was bland and sugary, and the substance was soft and chewy, like thick peanut butter. He took his second meal after the first or second time the women had been called out of the room. Sometimes the substance stuck in his throat as one of the women lay exhausted on the mattress. His third meal came when the black-haired man grabbed the metal bucket in the counter to dump the contents outside, which made some of the women crinkle their noses. The fourth was sometime in the evening, when the gang grew rowdy and shouts and laughter from the kitchen could be heard. He finished the carton and squeezed out the last bite of substance before they went to bed, to try to stave off dreams about strips of deer meat roasting on a grill, gleaming cans of bubbly fruit soda, tins of yellow peach cubes swimming in syrup. With his throat dry and parched, for one wild moment he wanted to ask Blue to crack herself open and give him the water she used to produce tears, but he quickly pushed the idea out of his mind.  
  
The women frequently circled around him and begged for stories about his Killjoy life, which he told with colorful figurative language and sweeping hand gestures. They smiled and laughed, gasped, clapped their hands, and cried out with delight. Sometimes they all sat in a circle and took turns telling stories about their experiences, or sharing folktales from the Killjoy world or a piece of android culture called the Graffiti Bible. As Kobra described Poison hacking into a cactus with his knife and collecting water in a bucket, or Jet gathering plants to be used for medicine, he was overcome by a terrible longing. He discretely wiped tears from his eyes while the women shared their stories.  
  
Purple did excellent impressions, and repeatedly showed off the modeling strut she had perfected during two weeks as a stand-in fashion model. Blue taught everyone a clapping game, though she had to grab Yellow’s hands and clap them together because her last customer had turned back down to her lowest setting. They took turns brushing each other’s hair, including Kobra. Purple lined up the mattresses and jumped hurdles over them, then raced the others. One day, Kobra asked them what happened when they leave the room.  
  
“Nothing of any importance,” Orange said. “We walk into the sitting room and stand in a line while the client looks us over. Then he selects one of us to join him in the bedroom while the rest of us are sent back to this room.”  
  
“Do you get any female customers?” Kobra said.  
  
“A few,” she said. “Blue seems to be the favorite among the women.”  
  
Blue always sat next to Kobra, sometimes clinging to his arm, especially if her setting had been turned up. Sometimes she accidentally squeezed his burns, and he quietly cringed to himself. She insisted on brushing his hair every day, and repeatedly asked to check his burn, which he quickly declined. Sometimes she led him over to a corner and whispered tearful confessions.  
  
“I fear that Red would be ashamed if she could see me now,” she said once, wiping tears from her eyes.  
  
“Oh, no,” Kobra said. “It’s not your fault. None of this is.”  
  
“I was foolish. I had not met this woman before, yet I climbed into her bus without a second thought.”  
  
“You needed the money. It happens. God knows I’ve made mistakes when I was desperate.”  
  
After the first couple of days, Kobra found himself sitting next to Blue whenever possible, choosing stories that he knew would delight her, brushing her hair as soon as she came in (with the red-handled brush that he knew was her favorite), and once, offering her a bite of Nutrient Substance before he remembered that she couldn’t eat. Whenever he was seized with panic, she immediately brought him to a mattress and waited with him until the attack was over. Sometimes she started to pull up his sleeve to check his burns, but he repeatedly insisted that they were fine, until the day she yanked up his sleeve anyway and sat back and gasped.  
  
“What is it—oh no!” Green cried when she saw the five pink burns dotted on Kobra’s arm. “When did you get those?”  
  
Kobra rubbed his forehead, then told them the entire story. They gasped in horror. Even Orange looked shocked.  
  
“I’m so sorry!” Blue said. “Oh, I wish I could stay and protect you!”  
  
“It’s all right,” Kobra said wearily. “I don’t want you getting hurt anyway.”  
  
Frowning, she took his arm and hovered a hand above the burns. A clear lotion secreted from her fingertips, and she started rubbing it on the burns. It felt cool and soothing against Kobra’s skin.  
  
“Wait, what’s that?” he said. _Please, don’t let it be lube.  
  
_ “It’s antibiotic ointment,” she said. “We produce it for cleansing purposes after the act.”  
  
“Oh. Okay.”  
  
“I feared that your burns might get infected.”  
  
“Yeah. So did I.” He smiled at her when she was finished. “That feels better. Thank you.”  
  
Kobra’s nerves frayed more and more as the days passed. He jumped at small noises, like a drawer closing or a woman flopping down on a mattress. He struggled to keep his voice steady as he shared stories, and acid burned almost constantly in his stomach. Sometimes the nausea was so great that he couldn’t eat, and he gagged acid into the bucket. When the women left the room, he wanted to scream at them to stay, not leave him alone with the maniac with the charger. His entire body shook, and he curled up in the corner or pressed himself against the dresser. Whenever the door creaked open, panic lurched in his stomach. “What’s wrong?” Green said when she saw him, and hurried over to put her arms around him.  
  
Sometimes he tried to sleep in the middle of the day, but his nerves were too charged. He paced around the room until his legs ached, sat down on the mattress with his head bowed and his stringy hair dangling in his face, and got up and repeated the process again, with occasional breaks to spit acid in the bucket. The women repeatedly asked if he were okay, even Orange, but he said “I’m fine. I’m fine,” and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. His clothes were stiff and starting to smell.  
  
Finally he cradled his face in his hands and gave himself over to sobs, his shoulders shaking as hot tears dripped onto his collar. Blue wrapped his arms around him while Green sat down beside him. “I’m going to die in here,” he choked out.  
  
“No, no,” Green said soothingly. “No one’s going to die.”  
  
“I’m starving to death. They’re slowly starving me.”  
  
“I’m sure your friends will find you.”  
  
Kobra sobbed harder. Being separated from them gnawed at him like his ravenous hunger. If it meant he could be reunited with his brother and his friends, he would have gladly marched out the room every day with the women.  
  
“Shh,” Green whispered. “Shh. Everything will be just—”  
  
The door opened. Kobra jumped back, his heart pounding.  
  
The black-haired man laughed. “Whoa, hot lady cuddle-fest. Man, you’re living the life. Or at least, you were. Someone just came along and bought all of them.”  
  
Purple looked at him strangely. “He wants to use all of us at once?”  
  
“No, no. _She_ just bought all of you permanently. We didn’t want to sell you guys, but she laid down a pretty hefty sum. Come on. Let’s go.”  
  
Kobra’s stomach dropped. “What? No!”  
  
“You don’t have a say in this, unless you’ve got 5,000 carbs lying around. Come on, ladies, get up and get out.”  
  
“Wait! No!” Blue clung to Kobra’s arm. “I can’t leave him. Please.”  
  
“Well, he should have thought of that before interfering with business. Now come on, if we keep her waiting too long she might take back her offer.”  
  
“But he’ll be all alone!” Green said.  
  
The man sighed and pulled his ray gun from its holster. “I had a feeling this might happen. Now, you can either walk out on your own steam—no pun intended—or I can shoot all of you and drag you out myself. And before you think about attacking me,” he added, noticing the gleam in Orange’s eye, “I’ve got someone watching the camera and backup right outside the door. What’s it going to be?”  
  
Kobra stared at the man in shock, paralyzed in horror. After several tense moments, Orange marched over to the man and folded her arms with a disgusted look on her face. Purple sighed and followed, giving Kobra a sympathetic look as she passed. Green hugged him, then stood up and walked over to Yellow’s mattress. She grabbed both of her hands, pulled her off the bed, and walked her over to the man. Blue’s eyes filled with tears. She wrapped her arms around Kobra, and they held each other for several moments.  
  
“Stay strong, kiddo,” Kobra whispered.  
  
“Goodbye, Red,” she whispered.  
  
When they separated, she stood and grasped his hand for several moments, then fixed the man with a hard look.  
  
“Finally. All right, let’s go, ladies—wait, what are you doing?”  
  
Blue had dashed over to the waste bucket. Before the man could react, she picked it up and thrust it forward, sloshing the contents all over him. Bubbly acid and waste splattered all over his face and jacket, then streaked down and left vile trails. The man staggered back, spluttering.  
  
“I hate you!” Blue screamed. “I hate you all!”  
  
“You little bitch!” the man shouted. “You little—fucking—bitch!” As she dashed down the hallway, he ripped this gun from its holster and followed her. Kobra’s heart pounded as he heard the sounds of pounding footsteps, then a shriek, a crash, and a thud. The man bellowed something. Then Blue screamed and there was a violent buzz and sizzle.  
  
“ _No!_ ” Kobra shouted. Purple, who had been peering down the hallway, gasped and her hands flew to her mouth. Green burst into tears. Orange’s expression was stunned. Yellow fainted, her head hitting the carpet. Kobra hurried over to the doorway, then stopped and clutched the doorframe to keep himself from passing out as well. Blue lay in an unconscious heap on the kitchen floor, emitting a burning smell. A Japanese woman stood in the kitchen with her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open, her hands still raised in a defensive stance. When she saw Kobra, an unmistakable look of shocked recognition crossed her face. Waste drippings on the carpet led to the man standing in the hallway who stood clutching his smoking gun.  
  
“Hey!” he shouted when he saw Kobra. “You! Get back in the fucking room!”  
  
“You killed her!” Kobra cried. “You fucking piece of shit! _You killed her!_ ”  
  
“I said _get back in the fucking room!_ ” The man charged at Kobra, grabbed him by the collar, and threw him inside, then shoved the women out of the way and slammed the door. The lock clicked, and Kobra howled. He beat against the door with his fists and tugged on the doorknob until his arms were sore, then scratched against the wood until sharp splinters caught underneath his fingernails and made them bleed. He pulled a hairbrush from the dresser and whacked the door again and again, carving out more splinters and leaving dents in the wood.  
  
“Hey!” the man shouted outside, his voice muffled. “You fucking stop that, you little shit! Or I’ll use this gun on all of them! Do you hear me? _I’ll use this gun on every last one of them!_ ”  
  
Kobra howled in agony, then sank to his knees. Tears streamed down his face as he bent forward and clutched at his stringy hair. _This was all because of me,_ he thought frantically. _She flipped out because of me, she fucking died because of me…_ He crawled on his hands and knees and gagged acid into the bucket, then collapsed on the ground, shaking violently. He sobbed and shuddered until the emotion as drained out of him and he lay motionless on the floor, hollow and numb, the hairbrush a few feet away and still tangled with multicolored strands of hair…  
  
Hours inched past, and Kobra didn’t move. He still had most of his drink and Nutrient Substance, but eating seemed pointless now. Emptiness consumed him, as if a black hole had appeared and sucked up everything inside him. When the door finally creaked open, his face hardened with grim determination. He grabbed the hairbrush and slowly sat up. He would bash the leader’s nose in and make a run for it. He had nothing else to lose…  
  
But when he turned, he saw the black-haired man standing in the doorway. His jacket was gone, and he wore a white T-shirt instead. “Time to go, you little monster,” he said. “You know, you should have told us you were a ‘droid. Would have saved us a whole lot of trouble.”  
  
Kobra blinked. “What?”  
  
“That chick who owns you told us everything. God, you should have told us earlier. We could have made so much money. Male pornodroids are ten times harder to find.”  
  
Kobra opened his mouth to argue, then stopped. This was his only chance of escape. He tucked the brush in his jacket pocket, then approached the doorway.  
  
“Yeah,” he said, his voice shaky and weak. “We’re not supposed to tell anyone because, uh…they want to see how many people we can fool. Make sure we’re realistic enough.”  
  
“Well, you sure fooled us. Come on, let’s go. She’s waiting.”  
  
He led Kobra back through the hallway and kitchen, muttering about the money they could have made. The new sights and the scent of fresh night air brushed along the edges of his emptiness, and for a moment he almost felt happy. When they passed the open windows in the kitchen with cool air blowing inside, memories of sitting at a diner booth with a breeze blowing through the doors, which had been propped open by a rock, rushed through his mind.  
  
The Japanese woman from earlier stood in the doorway, wearing a wrinkled white suit and black heels. She smiled warmly at Kobra when she saw him. He wanted to push past her and run out the doorway, but three gang members sat at the kitchen table, watching him closely.  
  
“Hello, Kobra,” she said in a pleasant voice. “I’m happy to meet you again. Your brother just can’t wait to see you.”  
  
Kobra froze. “My brother?”  
  
“Oh, yes. The Party Poison model. Remember? And the Fun Ghoul model and Jet Star model, too. They’ve all missed you so much.”  
  
A chill crept down Kobra’s spine. “D-do you have them?” he said, as he imagined Poison, Ghoul, and Jet huddled in a dimly-lit basement.  
  
“They’re waiting at my house, yes. We’ve even taught the Poison model to write. He has a message for you.” She handed him a folded-up piece of lined paper from the folder. Kobra looked at her suspiciously, then opened the paper. Written in Poison’s small, thin handwriting was the following message:  
  
 _KobraKid_01,  
  
Hello. They have been teaching me how to write. It is very fun. My handwriting is great, don’t you think? I hope the Blood Moons let you go, because we are all very sad without you. Dr. Fujiwara is a good woman. If you get this message, please go with her. We all miss you very much. I have learned to write 10,000 words so far. It is great. Also I am learning how to sass like the real Poison. So far I have flipped my hair at 3 people and said “WHATEVS!” It is great. Thank you.  
  
Sincerely,  
PartyPoison_01  
  
P.S. Blue_0879 is fine.  
  
_ Kobra held back a smile. Warmth and relief suddenly flooded through him. “That’s him,” he said, folding the paper and tucking it in his pocket.  
  
Dr. Fujiwara smiled. “Good. Well, shall we go now?”  
  
A shred of doubt still lingered in Kobra’s mind, but he said “Yeah. Sure.”  
  
When they stepped out of the house, Kobra was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. A chorus of insects chirped and screeched, and the cool night air seemed like the freshest scent he’d ever smelled. Pinpricks of stars dotted the sky, and a sharp crescent moon glowed above them. A distant mountain range was silhouetted black against the dark bluish sky, and dark clouds were crowded in the distance. As they approached Dr. Fujiwara’s small blue car, there was a rustling sound as something scurried off in the distance. Wiping his watery eyes, Kobra thought he caught a glimpse of the hind legs of a desert hare.  
  
“It must be overwhelming,” Dr. Fujiwara said gently. “Being outside after so long.”  
  
Kobra nodded, unable to speak around the lump in his throat. They climbed into the car, and she switched on the engine and backed out onto the highway.  
  
“So Blue’s okay?” Kobra said.  
  
“Oh, yes. She’s fine. Thankfully, the blast didn’t fry her whole system. I just had to make some recalibrations.”  
  
Relief washed over him. “Thank God. When I saw her in the hallway, I…” His voice trailed off.  
  
“I know. It must have been scary.”  
  
“Yeah. It was terrible.” He wiped his eyes and pushed his hair back from his face. “Can I see her when we get there?”  
  
“She’s resting now. I believe the others are, too. But I promise that you’ll be able to see them tomorrow. I’m sure they can’t wait.”  
  
“Yeah. Me neither. Thank you,” he added.  
  
“No trouble at all.”  
  
Kobra gazed out the window for a while. Part of him couldn’t wait to be reunited with his brother and his friends, but another part just wanted to collapse into bed and sleep.  
  
“Do you mind if I roll down the window?” he said.  
  
“Not at all. Go ahead.”   
  
While Kobra rolled down the window and let the fresh air blow in, Dr. Fujiwara took a plastic container out of the glove compartment.  
  
“You must be hungry,” she said, handing him the container. “From what I heard, they didn’t feed you much.”  
  
Kobra eagerly took the container. A meaty smell wafted out when he pried off the lid. Inside was a breaded orange chicken patty and a pile of macaroni and cheese in runny yellow sauce. A plastic fork wrapped in a napkin was tucked beside the patty.  
  
“I hope you don’t mind city food,” she said. “That’s from a Tube Meal that I heated up. Your brother said that you liked chicken.”  
  
“Oh no, this is great,” Kobra said, his stomach rumbling beneath the acid. “Thank you so much.”  
  
“You’re very welcome. Oh, and there’s a soda in the cup holder.” She reached into the cup holder between them and handed him a shiny yellow can with Japanese writing and a picture of a banana. “I hope this is okay. Your brother said that you liked lime, but all I had was banana.”  
  
“Oh, it’s fine,” Kobra said with a laugh. “This is incredible. I can’t believe you did all this for me.”  
  
“Well, you deserve it, after spending a week with those goons.”  
  
Kobra gave a half smile. After taking a few deep breaths, he tore into the chicken. The meat was tough and chewy, and the breading was too soft, but it tasted like the meatiest, juiciest, most flavorful chicken he’d ever had. The macaroni, though runny and limp, tasted like the thick three-cheese pasta his mother used to make. And drinking the soda was like gulping down fizzy spring water.  
  
“I feel like I’m dreaming,” Kobra said.  
  
Dr. Fujiwara smiled. “Well, I assure you, this is no dream.”  
  
“Yeah. Hope not. So how did you get me out of there?”  
  
She told him about the conversation she had with the black-haired man (whose name was Orbital Loop) when she arrived at their hideout.  
  
“Good evening,” she said when he opened the door. “I’m here for another purchase. I believe you have one of my recent models here.”  
  
“Your recent models? I don’t think so. We sold ‘em all.”  
  
“Did you sell the male model?”  
  
“The male model? What—that Killjoy guy?”  
  
“He’s not a Killjoy. He’s an imitation pornodroid built specifically for those who prefer a taste of the…rebellious side.”  
  
“That’s not what you said earlier. You said he was human.”  
  
“I was under strict orders not to reveal the truth about him. But since you refused to sell him, you’ve left me with no choice.”  
  
“Come on, he is not an android. For one thing, he eats and shits.”  
  
“The recent models are built to extract fuel from food, just like a human being. Of course, that material has to be…evacuated.”  
  
“That makes no sense, Mei. Who would want a ‘droid like that?”  
  
“It’s Dr. Fujiwara. And one of our biggest complaints is that our pornodroids aren’t human enough. With one of these, you get the full experience. He can even become a live-in boyfriend, if you like.”  
  
“But he sweats! He stinks like a pig!”  
  
“Another added touch. Some find sweat sexually stimulating.”  
  
“But who wants a ‘droid that smells like a dumpster?”  
  
“Well, perhaps he would smell better if you let him bathe once in a while.”  
  
Orbital thought for a moment. “This still doesn’t make any sense. Why did he try to save one of the females, if he’s not human? Why wouldn’t he just run off? Didn’t you program any sense of self-preservation into this guy?”  
  
Dr. Fujiwara smiled thinly. “Sir, if anything, this should prove to you that he’s an android. Why would a Killjoy care so much about a device unrelated to his gang?”  
  
“Yeah. Good point. But why didn’t he tell us any of this? Why would he let us believe he’s human?”  
  
“Because these androids are currently in the testing stages. We released a few into the public to see if they could blend in with other humans. They’re under strict orders not to reveal their secret to anyone.”  
  
“This is bullshit. I’m not buying it until I see some files.”  
  
“Very well. I believe this will convince you.”  
  
She handed him a folder that contained files typed up by Party Poison on a typewriter that Cherri had borrowed from Tommy Chow Mein. He flipped through them, then handed them back to her and sighed.  
  
“Well, maybe we don’t want to sell,” he said. “The male ‘droids are hard to find. We could get a thousand per day with this guy, if not more.”  
  
She took a transmitter out of her jacket pocket. “Shall I call Madam Director and tell her that you’ve stolen one of her finest models?”  
  
Hot Chimp was waiting back in her van, prepared to pretend to be the Director, but Orbital quickly shook his head. “Whoa, whoa. Hang on. I’ll get him, okay? Don’t be making any calls to the Director. Let’s keep things friendly over here.”  
  
She folded her arms and waited while he brought Kobra out, then smiled, spoke to him briefly, and led him to the car.  
  
“Your brother came up with the android idea,” she told him. “From what I heard, that Chow Mein fellow was _not_ happy about being woken up this late at night. Apparently he said that everyone ‘owes’ him, including me.”  
  
Kobra laughed. “Yeah. Sorry about that. He’s a dick sometimes.”  
  
After he handed the can and container back to Dr. Fujiwara, who tucked them in the glove compartment, he settled back in his seat and let the exhaustion wash over him. Though the acid in his stomach had dulled after eating, it still burned, and his muscles were aching and sore. The burns on his arm dully ached. His head throbbed, his hair was stringy, and his clothes were stiff with sweat. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, and quietly nodded off.


	6. Chapter 6

“Are you okay?” Kobra said with concern. “You’re a mess, man.”  
  
Poison sniffed and wiped his eyes on the bandana he’d pulled from his jacket pocket. He sat bent forward, with one arm draped across his lap. His hair and jacket collar were soaked.  
  
“I’m fine,” he said shakily, reaching back and pulling his wet hair away from his neck. “It’s just—God. I’m so sorry this happened to you, kiddo.”  
  
“It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”  
  
“I thought about going with you that day, to meet the kids, y’know?” Poison said quickly, as if sitting in a confessional booth.  
  
“And then you would have been captured, too. Then we’d both be trapped in that hell.”  
  
“We could’ve escaped. You know? We could’ve pulled Blue inside and sped off.”  
  
Kobra reached out and rubbed his arm. “Don’t beat yourself up, Poison. It’s not your fault. It never was.”  
  
Poison wiped the remaining tears from his eyes.  
  
“You know, there’s still a lot I don’t understand,” Kobra said. “How did Dr. Fujiwara know about the Moons in the first place? I never asked her. Why was she buying androids in the first place? And how did they even get out there? I forgot all about that until now. Doesn’t their power cut out when they leave the city?”  
  
“It’s a long story,” Poison said.  
  
“She told you all that?”  
  
“Yeah. We talked about it, the night you came home.”  
  
“Well, what is it? What’d she say?”  
  
Poison blew his nose. “You want to know? It’ll take a while.”  
  
“I’ve got time, man. What happened?”  
  
Poison balled up his bandana in his fist. As he started to speak, memories washed over him and he relieved every detail of that night…  
  
—-  
  
Jet sat across from Poison with his arms folded, his eyes on the doorway. Ghoul was leaning back in his chair and drumming his fingertips on the table. The pad of yellow paper still sat in front of Poison. He doodled swirls and line patterns while his heart raced.  
  
Suddenly there was a low rumble. They started and looked around the kitchen, then headed for the living room. Was that the sound of Dr. Fujiwara’s car pulling up to the house? Poison’s heart pounded as he pushed back the curtains, but he saw only Hot Chimp leaning against her van and talking to Cherri, his view slightly obscured by the cactus growing near the window. No approaching headlights on the road, or blue car pulling up to park. The rumble sounded again. It seemed to be somewhere above them. Poison narrowed his eyes. Was something on the roof?  
  
“Hang on,” Ghoul said. “Is that thunder?”  
  
Poison’s eyes widened. Before he could respond, there was another crackle of thunder, followed by a light misting sound. Poison yanked back the curtain to see Hot Chimp and Cherri shrieking and dashing back into their vehicles. A thin curtain of rain poured in front of the window and bounced off the tops of their cars.  
  
“It is!” Poison said, stepping back so Jet could look outside. “It’s raining! Oh, shit, we better collect some water—”  
  
He dashed back to the kitchen and started throwing open cabinets and drawers. Ghoul and Jet appeared behind him, and he thrust an armful of colored glasses into Jet’s hands, then handed Ghoul a stack of cast-iron pots and pans.  
  
“Are you sure she won’t mind?” Jet said, almost dryly.  
  
“Who cares, man, we need water,” Poison said with his head in the cabinet beneath the sink. He pulled out a stack of lidded plastic containers, balanced them with the top one tucked beneath his chin, and hurried to the door. After stooping and struggling to turn the doorknob, he pushed the door open, flicked off the ceiling light, and stepped out onto the pouring rain. Rain thudded on the roof ahead and dripped through the cracks. He climbed down the stairs with Jet and Ghoul following behind, placed the stack on the ground, and started prying off lids and arranging them next to the stairs. Raindrops pelted his head and back and darted into the containers. Ghoul arranged the pots in a circle around the cactus, while Jet placed the bowls next to Cherri’s car. Cherri switched on the headlights to give him some light, and started to step outside with an umbrella.  
  
Just as Poison was pulling the lid off the smallest container, a pair of lights appeared, chopped and distorted by the rain. Poison’s mouth fell open, and he dropped the container. He placed a hand on the steps and slowly pushed himself to his feet, then crept closer as the headlights approached. There was the sound of an engine and tires crackling on wet sand. The car pulled up next to Cherri’s vehicle, and a door slammed as Hot Chimp leaped out of her van. Ghoul and Jet were frozen in place, with Cherri holding an umbrella over Jet and staring at the car.  
  
Dr. Fujiwara stepped out of the car, and Cherri hurried over to hold the umbrella over her head. A second door creaked open and—Poison’s breath caught in his throat—a tall man with a mop of blonde hair and a bristly jaw stepped out. He placed a hand on the top of the door and glanced around, then closed the door and started to head toward the house. He wrapped his arms around himself and moved unsteadily, with his eyes darting around as if expecting one of the Blood Moons to jump out behind the house.  
  
Poison wanted to run up to him and wrap his arms around him, but he was frozen in place as Kobra trailed behind Dr. Fujiwara. Cherri said something to him, and his face lit up. As Cherri pulled him into a one-armed hug, Hot Chimp hurried up to him. Cherri continued to hold the umbrella over Dr. Fujiwara, who waited while Hot Chimp leaned forward, grabbed his shoulders, and grinned as she spoke. Kobra’s eyes widened as Jet approached him, and they reached for each other and hugged each other tightly. Kobra clung to him like a lost child, and Poison’s eyes began to well up. When Jet released him, Ghoul embraced Kobra. By now, everyone except Dr. Fujiwara had soaked clothes and hair plastered to their face. Hot Chimp stood with her hands on her hips, biting her lip as if holding back tears.  
  
When Ghoul and Kobra separated, Kobra looked around and said something Poison couldn’t hear. Ghoul pointed toward the steps, and Poison’s stomach lurched. His knees grew weak as Kobra timidly approached, his boots crunching in the sand. When he saw Poison, his expression froze, then wavered as if he were about to cry.   
  
Poison’s own face twisted with emotion, and he slowly stepped forward with his arms open. Kobra hugged him tightly and leaned heavily against him. Tears streamed down Poison’s face as he clung to him, and warmth flooded his body despite the cold rainwater trickling down his jacket. His shoulders shook as he dissolved into sobs.  
  
“I love you so much, Kid,” Poison sobbed.  
  
“I love you too, man,” Kobra said. “I’m so sorry.”  
  
“Shh, no, don’t apologize. It’s not your fault.”  
  
They held onto each other for a long time. Eventually they climbed up the steps behind Dr. Fujiwara and the rest of the group, with Poison’s arm still around Kobra’s shoulders. Kobra trudged up the stairs with his head bent. Ghoul opened the front door and flicked the switch, and light shone in the windows and illuminated the porch. Kobra stared up at the light with vague reverence, as if he were walking through Heaven’s doorway. After stepping out of their boots and nudging them into the row on the porch, they stepped inside. Their socks squelched on the carpet, and Poison quickly led Kobra over to the kitchen, where people were peeling off their soaking jackets.  
  
“You can put them in the sink,” Dr. Fujiwara said. Ghoul dropped his dripping vest in the sink, where it collapsed in a heap. “What were you doing with my pots and pans? I didn’t think I had to lock the cabinets while I was away.”  
  
“Sorry about this,” Ghoul said. “We have to take advantage of these rainfalls when they happen. Don’t have a lot of fresh drinking water in the Zones.”  
  
“We won’t keep your containers,” Jet said. “We have some buckets and gallon jugs we can bring from the diner.”  
  
Dr. Fujiwara nodded uncomfortably. “Oh no,” she said when she spotted Kobra sitting at the kitchen table. His eyelids were heavy, and he slumped forward with his wet hair dripping in his face. “He needs to lie down. He doesn’t look like he’s slept in a week.”  
  
She placed a hand on Kobra’s arm and guided him to the hallway. Poison noticed that Kobra tensed as they walked through the hall. When she opened the door on the left, his eyes widened and he stopped at the entrance. Poison narrowed his eyes and peered inside, but he saw only an ordinary bedroom: a bed with a wooden headboard and floral blanket, a table with a lamp, a wooden dresser, a desk, and white carpeting.  
  
“It’s all right,” Dr. Fujiwara said, gesturing for him to come forward. “Come here. I’ll give you some dry clothes to wear.”  
  
Kobra glanced nervously at Poison, then stepped inside. Poison grabbed the doorknob and started to close the door, assuming Kobra would want privacy.  
  
“No!” Kobra blurted out. “Don’t close it!”  
  
Poison stopped, then slowly pulled his hand away from the doorknob. “Okay,” he said gently. “Okay. I’ll leave it open.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Kobra said. His eyes were still wide, and the panicked expression hadn’t left his face. His chest heaved beneath his soaked yellow T-shirt.  
  
“Are your hands shaking?” Poison frowned and stepped closer, then took Kobra’s trembling hand. “What’s wrong, Kid?”  
  
Kobra’s breathing grew harsh, and his red-rimmed eyes brimmed with tears. His mouth twisted and he let out a sob, then covered his mouth with his hand.  
  
“Oh, Kid, it’s okay,” Poison said, wrapping his arms around him. Kobra sobbed and shook against him, his stubble grazing the side of Poison’s cheek. “It’s okay. Shh.”  
  
After a few minutes, Kobra’s sobs quieted and he pulled away. He blinked up at the ceiling, his eyes glittering, and ran a hand through his hair. Poison gently rubbed his shoulders.  
  
“Go put on some dry clothes, okay, kiddo?” he said, his voice wavering.  
  
Kobra turned to Dr. Fujiwara, who smiled at him and opened the top drawer of her dresser. She pulled out a folded mint green T-shirt with the word _ChikaU_ in brown. “This is a woman’s shirt, but it looks like it’ll fit you,” she said, laying it on the desk. “All my clothes are in women’s sizes. I’m sorry.”  
  
“It’s okay,” Kobra said weakly. “Thank you.”  
  
“And here’s a pair of pants.” She laid them on the desk beside the shirt, then dug around inside the second drawer. “These socks look like a good fit,” she said, laying them on top of the shirt. “I’ll wait here while you get dressed to make sure they fit. Don’t worry, I won’t look.” She covered her face with her hands and smiled at him, then turned away. Kobra started to peel his red jacket off, wincing as he did so. When he pulled his right arm out of the sleeve, Poison noticed a trail of pink splotches on his arm.  
  
“Wait. What are those?” Poison said.  
  
Kobra looked down at his arm, then pulled off the jacket and draped it over his left arm. “They’re burns,” he said without emotion. “They burned me a few times.”  
  
Poison gently took his arm and studied the burns. The one closest to his wrist was bold, shiny, and pink. “Oh my God, Kid. Do they hurt?”  
  
“Not after a while.”  
  
Dr. Fujiwara turned around and peered at Kobra’s arm. “Oh goodness,” she said. “You wait here. I’ll go get my first-aid kit.” While she searched in another room, Kobra put on the dry clothing, then sat down at the desk chair. Poison took off his own soaked jacket and carried the bundle of wet clothes to the kitchen sink. Everyone was clustered at the table, talking animatedly. When they asked about Kobra, he quickly said “He’s fine, he’s fine” and hurried back to the room.  
  
“Here’s a towel, by the way,” Dr. Fujiwara said, handing Poison a scratchy dark green towel. “I brought a lot of towels when I came out here. I heard they were one of the hardest things to find in the desert.”  
  
“The nice ones, yeah,” Poison said, taking the towel. “Thank you.” It was folded and clean; Poison held it carefully in his hands, afraid to soil it.  
  
“You can dry your hair with that,” she said. “I don’t mind.” Poison hesitated, then started to squeeze and twist his dripping hair.  
  
Dr. Fujiwara laid on the desk a glass of water, a washcloth, a first-aid kit, and a thick white book with the Better Living logo and the words _HOME FIRST-AID._ “I know you’re supposed to wash them,” Dr. Fujiwara said as she flipped through the pages. “I’ve gotten a few burns, but I never treated myself. I just ran to the medic unit.”  
  
When she found a page labeled _First Degree Burns,_ she read as she opened the first-aid kit, then took a square of white soap from a small cardboard box. Poison eyed the soap hungrily. Most of the soap in the Zones came in dirt-streaked hunks, gritty slivers, and lumpy homemade globs.  
  
“This should only take a minute,” she said. “Then you can lie down. I know you must be exhausted.”  
  
Kobra nodded wearily. She cleaned the burns with soap and water, spread on a pale yellow cream from a tube, and wrapped his arm with a strip of gauze. When the gauze was secured, she stood and led him over to the bed, where Kobra collapsed beneath the covers.  
  
“Are you staying with him?” Dr. Fujiwara said. Poison nodded. “All right. Do you want it completely dark, or should I turn the lamp on?” she said to Kobra.  
  
“Uh…turn the lamp on,” Kobra said in a quiet, hoarse voice.  
  
“All right.”  She switched it on, then turned the knob until the light was dim. “Turn that knob to adjust it,” she said.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“You’re quite welcome. Sleep well.”  
  
She grabbed her first-aid supplies, switched off the light, and left the door about two inches open. Snatches of conversation from the kitchen drifted inside, too far away to make out. Poison had the urge to close the door and protect himself and Kobra from the outside world. But instead, he placed the desk chair backwards beside the bed, sat down with his arms resting on the back of the chair, and watched Kobra as he drifted off to sleep. His face was heavily shadowed in the lamplight. His skin was pale and his jaw was dark with stubble, his face was sharper and more angular than before, and his eyes were red-rimmed, bleary, and framed with sickly shadows. His stringy wet hair was tangled like a bird’s nest. A heaviness settled over Poison, and he wanted to collapse on the bed beside him. His hand shook as he brushed a few strands of hair away from Kobra’s forehead.  
  
 _If you’d gone with him, this never would have happened.  
  
_ The pouring rain had faded to a steady patter. Eventually it became a trickle, and then it stopped altogether. Conversation in the kitchen faded in and out, with occasional bursts of laughter. _What the hell are they laughing about?_ Poison thought. Later, engines hummed outside and tires squeaked as two vehicles drove away; Poison assumed it was Cherri and Hot Chimp. The Trans Am’s engine sputtered away, then returned half an hour later, and the splashingsounds of water being poured echoed from the kitchen. Eventually the lights clicked off, heavy footsteps marched through the kitchen and out the front door, and an engine puttered off into the distance. Another door creaked open in the hallway, then slowly shut and clicked as if being locked. Finally, Poison nodded off with his head resting on his arms, then jerked awake and shifted on the chair. Throughout the night, Kobra lay motionless on the bed with his eyes closed, and if not for the steady rise and fall of his chest, Poison would have thought he were dead.  
  
The door creaked open, and a shadowy figure appeared in the doorway. Poison jumped out of the chair, suddenly wide awake.  
  
“It’s okay,” Ghoul whispered with his hands raised. “It’s okay. It’s just me.”  
  
Poison’s shoulders relaxed. He walked up to Ghoul and placed his hands on his hips.  
  
“Jet drove back to the diner for the night,” Ghoul said. “Cherri’s staying with him, just to be safe. I don’t think we have to worry about those Moon guys, though. They still think they kidnapped an android.”  
  
Poison nodded silently.  
  
“Anyway, I’m here to take your shift for the night.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“I’ll stay with him. Go get some sleep.”  
  
“Ghoul, I can’t leave him.”  
  
“He’ll be fine. I’ll keep an eye on him.”  
  
“No, I’ll stay here. It’s fine.”  
  
“You’re not abandoning him, man. You’ll be, what, fifty feet away? Fujiwara said you could crash on her couch. If something happens, you’ll be the first to know.”  
  
Poison shook his head. “And what happens when he wakes up and I’m not here?”  
  
“I’ll be there. If he’s upset, I’ll take care of it.” When Poison didn’t move, Ghoul sighed through his teeth and took Poison’s shoulders. “Listen to me. You can’t take care of him if you’re exhausted. If anything happens, I’ll wake you up. I promise.” He patted Poison’s shoulder. “Now go on. Get some sleep.”  
  
Poison gave Kobra one last lingering look, then turned back to Ghoul, who looked at him insistently. Poison pursed his lips and trudged out of the room. As he closed the door halfway, he heard a creak as Ghoul sat down in the chair.  
  
The kitchen and living room were empty, and the only light came from moonlight streaming through the curtains, making everything shadowed and tinted with dark blue. Poison crept into the kitchen, where he found their clothing still folded in the sink. It was damp to the touch. Five water jugs and two lidded buckets sat next to the sink, brimming with water that was flecked with sand and dirt. The cabinets were closed, and padlocks were chained between the handles. Poison winced, then headed into the living room and lay down on the couch. He laid his hands on his stomach and closed his eyes, expecting sleep to claim him immediately. But now that sleep was possible, his mind wandered. Images floated through his mind of Kobra slouching silently at the kitchen table with dark shadows under his eyes, pulling off his jacket to reveal sore pink burns, launching into panic and begging Poison not to close the door. What had the Blood Moons done to him? Poison sank into a light, uneasy sleep, punctuated with towering shadowy figures, slamming doors, and flickering white-hot flames.  
  
There was a click and a rustle. Poison stirred awake and propped himself up on his elbows. The room was still dark. A woman in a dark green sweater and a pair of black pants stood in front of the stove, pouring brown powder into a small pot and stirring with a wooden spoon.  
  
Dr. Fujiwara turned, then quietly gasped. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”  
  
“It’s okay,” Poison whispered back. “I wasn’t really sleeping anyway. Just having bad dreams.”  
  
“Well, if you’re awake, you’re welcome to some instant coffee. I tried to sleep in my study, but I just couldn’t fall asleep.”  
  
Poison swung his legs over the side of the couch and stood up. “Neither can I,” he said. “I just can’t get over what happened to him.”  
  
She nodded as he walked into the kitchen. “I think I know what caused those burns,” she said. “At first I thought they burned him on their stove, but they’re too rectangular. I think they used a ray gun charger.”  
  
Poison cringed as he sat down at the table. “Oh my God,” he whimpered. “The poor kid.” He rested his elbow on the table and cradled his head in his hand.  
  
“I think he’ll be okay,” she said. “Charger burns usually aren’t serious. They used to be more dangerous, but we found a way to thicken the insulation after too many children got ahold of them and burned themselves.”  
  
Poison shook his head sadly, then paused. “Where did you work?” he said.  
  
“I was in the Better Living Technology Division. Specifically power sources, though I also did some work with androids.”  
  
Poison nodded, his brow furrowed in thought. “Can I ask you something?”  
  
She tapped the spoon on the edge of the pot to shake off drippings. “Certainly. What is it?”  
  
“How do you know so much about this stuff? I mean, from day one, you’ve had all this information that I couldn’t explain. How do you know all this? Not just about the technology, but about the gang and everything.”  
  
She turned a dial on the stove, then turned around and leaned against the counter. “It’s a long story,” she said. “I suppose I should start at the beginning. Do you know how power used to work in the city? Not for minor things like ray guns, but for major technology.”  
  
“Couldn’t cross the power line,” Poison said. “If you did, then— _bzzt._ ”  
  
“That’s right. Well, Better Living wanted to start building settlements in different parts of the country, but whenever you tried to get a builderdroid outside the border, they immediately shut down. There were also compatibility issues, because sometimes we’d ship technology to another city, and it wouldn’t work with their main power source. So the heads of our division started to realize that if we wanted to expand, we needed to create a portable power source so our technology could go anywhere.”  
  
“Like the ray guns,” Poison said.  
  
“Exactly like the ray guns, but on a much larger scale. We actually studied ray gun chargers when developing the power source. Eventually we developed a source that was small enough to be inserted in our technology, but held enough power to keep it active. It’s mostly solar-based, like the guns. We rounded up the androids in the city and converted them, then placed an order for all new androids to be built with this power source. The source harnessed the solar power, and their existing batteries converted it into usable energy for their system.”  
  
Poison listened intently with his arms folded on the table.  
  
“Well, one day we got word that a group of pornodroids had been shipped out to the desert. At first we thought they were sent to a settlement, but when we checked the records, we found no mention of any order being placed. When I asked the head of our division what had happened, I learned that she was just as confused as we are. She took it to one of the Director’s officials, who essentially told her to mind her own business.” She paused, her face closed and drawn. “We weren’t allowed access to security footage, but several eyewitnesses claimed that they had seen a woman dressed in black direct several androids into a bus and drive away. A handful of neutrals reported seeing the same bus in the desert, and had contacted the city because it had frightened them.”  
  
“I think I remember hearing about that,” Poison said. “That was last year, right? People in the Zones thought they were government agents.”  
  
Dr. Fujiwara nodded. “Officials were perfectly happy to keep up that illusion. After a month passed, we forgot about the incident. But then we started receiving reports from neutrals that an android had appeared in a trailer park, beaten up and terrified. One family brought her in and spoke to her. She told them that she had been captured by a gang and forced to sell herself, then give them the funds. She lasted three days before her battery died.”  
  
“Oh my God,” Poison said. “That’s horrible.”  
  
“It is. One of my team members and I visited a few neutral settlements and interviewed them about the incident. Eventually, we learned that a gang called the Blood Moons had been sold a group of pornodroids and were selling them out for profit. We were warned to stay away from them, but I felt that I had no choice. I located their hideout, offered them a large sum of money, bought the women, and arranged transportation back to the city.”  
  
She paused to stir the pot and turn the heat off, then turned back around and leaned against the counter once more.  
  
“I hoped that would be the end of it, but three months later, we started receiving reports about pornodroids in the desert again. After some investigation, we learned that the same black bus had transported another group of pornodroids to the Blood Moons. I bought this new group and had them brought back to the city.”  
  
She closed her eyes and sighed heavily. “The second time I visited their hideout, I noticed a package of Plus sitting on the table. Obviously this group had never been to the city, or it would have been all over the news. Plus is closely regulated and packages like that are distributed only by higher-ups, so they must have been working for someone inside the city. I put in an inquiry about the pornodroids and the missing Plus. To my surprise, I received a message from Korse himself, telling me that the issue was under investigation and there was no need to worry.”  
  
“But nothing happened, huh?” Poison said.  
  
“Right. Two months later, it happened again. After bringing the women back to the city, I marched with them up to Better Living Headquarters and told them what was going on. Korse brought me in for a quick interview, which he ended by telling me not to worry citizens by meddling in unimportant affairs, as he put it. By now, I was starting to realize that someone like Korse would have no problem taking care of an inexperienced gang who were foolish enough to leave Plus out on a table and let one of their prisoners get away.”  
  
“So you think the whole thing was run by Korse?” Poison said.  
  
“I think it was run by one of the Director’s officials,” Dr. Fujiwara said. “I don’t think Korse has ever been interested in business or profit. But I think someone saw an opportunity to make money by secretly selling pornodroids out to the Zones.”  
  
“Or the Moons could have a double agent in the city,” Poison said. “It happens sometimes.”  
  
“It’s possible,” she said. “Anything’s possible at this point, I suppose. But double agents are taken much more seriously. One of my colleagues was suspected of being one a few years ago, and the Director’s officials interviewed each one of us personally. They would have collected information from the whole division, instead of turning me away. And in any case, Korse could have arrested that gang fairly easily. They certainly didn’t make themselves hard to trace.”   
  
She took a keyring out of her pocket and unlocked the cabinets above the sink, then took out two glasses and laid them on the counter. “We better drink this before it gets any colder,” she said, pouring the coffee into the glasses. Poison stood up and took his glass, then sat down at the table with her.  
  
“Thank you,” he said, then took a sip. It was lukewarm, but dark and rich.  
  
“You’re welcome.” She fiddled with her glass, then took a sip. “Anyway, I decided to move out here to keep an eye on this mess. I get a fairly steady flow of revenue from the power source, as well as a few other inventions, and I received a bonus when my team sold the technology to Lunar Dust. That’s a Better Living settlement in New York,” she said in response to Poison’s raised eyebrows. “Astrophil has shown interest as well.”  
  
“But what if the official notices the androids being shipped back?” Poison said. “I mean, you could get caught any time.”  
  
“Oh, I don’t think it matters much to them. They already received their profit, and I doubt they can tell one android from another.” Her voice was wry. “I don’t have anything near the power to stop what I started, but I can try to help the victims. I owe them that much, at least.” She took another sip. “Besides, I doubt this will go on forever. The official will get bored, as they always do, and find some other form of profit to exploit.”  
  
Poison nodded solemnly, then took another drink. “One more question,” he said. “Sorry. It’s just—are they really better off in the city? Aren’t they exploited there, too?”  
  
“To an extent, yes. But there are laws that prevent what’s been happening out here. They’re called the Kelley Laws, after a man named Stephen Kelley kept a group of pornodroids in his apartment, hired them out, and kept two-thirds of their profits. The NHRA staged protests until laws were passed that protected their welfare, or at least parts of it.”  
  
“Oh yeah? I’m glad to hear that. Times were tough for androids when I lived in the city. Not that we had many back then.”  
  
“Oh, technology’s always advancing. I’ve done a lot of tinkering around out here, myself. The outdated technology you have out here is fascinating. Right now I’ve been studying an old ray gun that looks like it was made in the 90s.”  
  
“Really? Wow, that was a while ago. What’s it like?”  
  
“Well, the casing is much bulkier, and the charger only lasts for half as long. And the trigger mechanism is much more complex…”  
  
They talked and shared stories as the light outside gradually grew brighter. One last question lingered in Poison’s mind, but he pushed it back until the crack of dawn, when he couldn’t hold it in anymore.  
  
“I’ve got one last question,” Poison said. “I know this sounds horrible, but, uh…is it worth doing all this for a bunch of androids? You know? I mean—I want to help them, too, but aren’t they just a bunch of metal and working parts?”  
  
For the first time, Dr. Fujiwara smiled.  
  
“Sorry,” Poison said quickly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend—”  
  
“Oh no, I’m not offended,” she said. “Actually, I’ve asked myself that same question. But isn’t that all we humans are? Just a heap of cells and tissue and interlocking parts?”  
  
“But there’s more than that,” Poison said. “We have souls.”  
  
“But where do they come from?” Dr. Fujiwara said. “Are they created in the womb? Do they leap into the body when we’re born? The Phoenix Witch bestows them on our children. How do we know that when we make a human out of metal instead of flesh that she doesn’t do the same?”  
  
Poison sat dazed at the table while she picked up the glasses and placed them in the sink. “Wait,” he said suddenly. “You know about the Phoenix Witch?”  
  
Dr. Fujiwara smiled.


	7. Chapter 7

Kobra was silent for several moments. “You know, I wondered that,” he said finally.  
  
“Yeah? Wondered what?”  
  
“The souls thing. That question kept going through my head, you know? Why I let myself get trapped in that shithole for a bunch of scrap metal. But there was something about them, especially Blue—I mean, she could cry. Why would they make an android that could cry? She’d have to replenish the water all the time. It doesn’t make sense. And her throwing the bucket—why would they program her to get angry like that? What if she scared off all her customers?”  
  
Poison smiled faintly at him. “Yeah. They don’t exactly obey their programming, do they?”  
  
“Yeah. I don’t know, man. You know more about the Witch than I do.”  
  
Poison was about to respond when someone knocked on the door. Kobra immediately tensed and drew back.  
  
“Who is it?” Poison said.  
  
“It’s me, Cherri,” Cherri said on the other side.  
  
Poison jumped off the bed and hurried to the door. Cherri stood on the other side, wearing a hot pink mask with a black lightning bolt. He wore a puffy light green vest and a grey T-shirt, and a streak of grey stood out in his ruffled brown hair. He smiled at Poison.  
  
“Hey,” Poison said, smiling back.  
  
“Hey! Can I come in?”  
  
“Yeah, sure! How’s it going?”  
  
“Oh, not bad, not bad,” Cherri said as he stepped through the doorway. “How are you, Kobra?”  
  
“Doing better,” Kobra said. “Hey, thanks for finding those pills for us.”  
  
“No problem. Did they work?”  
  
“Worked like a charm. I was out.”  
  
“Really? Good. I’m glad.” He sat down on the bed next to Kobra, then took off his khaki backpack and rifled through it. “Chow Mein got his hands on something else that I think will calm you down.”  
  
“Oh yeah? What is it?” Apprehension flickered over Kobra’s face, as if expecting Cherri to pull another book of poetry from the bag.  
  
“Oh, just a little something that I like to call…” He pulled out a baggie packed with small green clumps and grinned. “ _Kobra Kush._ ”  
  
Kobra’s face lit up. “Holy shit, dude! Where’d you get it?”  
  
“It’s a new strain that’s been going around,” he said as he pulled out a leather wallet and took out two rolling papers. “Do you mind if we light up in here?” he said to Poison, who shook his head. “All right. Thank you. Anyway, I thought it might help you. It’s milder than the usual variety.”  
  
“Oh yeah? What’s it called?”  
  
“Well, for our purposes, it’s Sweet Pea,” he said as he rolled the first joint. “But it’s also the drug of choice for Draculoids, who call it Dracijuana.”  
  
Kobra paused. “They don’t put anything in it?”  
  
“Oh, no. It’s all grown out in the Zones. The Dracs don’t like the harder strains, though. They call that _Jet Stash._ ”  
  
Kobra burst out laughing. “ _Jet Stash?_ That’s a terrible name. I can think of about ten names better than Jet Stash.”  
  
“I’m sure you could.”  
  
“First off: Party Potson. How did they miss that? It’s so obvious.”  
  
“Maybe that’s why they passed it by,” Cherri said as he rolled the second joint. “Wanted to stand out from the crowd.”  
  
“Yeah, maybe. That sounds like Dracs. But second: Kobra Bud.”  
  
“Kobra Bud?” Cherri smiled. “I think that one already exists.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Yep. Down in Sunburst, that’s what they smoke. Kobra Bud.”  
  
“So I’ve had a strain named after me, and didn’t realize it? Oh, man. I’m like a god to them.”  
  
“A regular celebrity,” Cherri said.  
  
“You two sound like you’re already stoned,” Poison said.  
  
Kobra laughed. “I am, actually. I can get high just by looking at this stuff.”  
  
Cherri smiled at him, then said “Do you want to smoke with us, Poison? We’ve got enough for three.”  
  
“Yeah, we’ll get a round robin going,” Kobra said.  
  
Poison shook his head and stood by the window, feeling like he should keep a clear head.  
  
Ten minutes later, Kobra and Cherri were cross-legged on the floor, chuckling to themselves. Poison had opened the windows more, but the smell of smoke still hung in the room. He felt a twinge of happiness and light-headedness, and his eyes watered. He collapsed on the floor next to Kobra and laid his head on his shoulder.  
  
“Oh, looks like someone’s getting buzzed,” Kobra said as he and Cherri laughed. “Come on, man,” he said, offering his joint to Poison. “Laser blaze it.”  
  
Poison hesitated, then took the cigarette, pressed it between his lips, and inhaled. Kobra cheered and patted his shoulder.  
  
“All right. I knew he’d come around. Tell him what Dr. Fujiwara said, Poison.”  
  
“Hmm?” Poison looked up, the cigarette still between his lips.  
  
“That thing you told me about earlier. About androids having souls. Tell Cherri.”  
  
“What? Oh—oh, yeah.” He handed the joint back to Kobra. “Yeah, uh…she said they have souls. She said the Phoenix Witch, uh…puts souls in them when they’re built.”  
  
“Isn’t that fucking deep, man?” Kobra said. “Even more so when you’re stoned.”  
  
Cherri nodded, closed his eyes, and slowly exhaled. “You know, that would not surprise me at all,” he said. “I always thought that they had a mind of their own.”  
  
“Yeah,” Kobra said. “Hey, how’s Blue doing, by the way?”  
  
“Blue? Oh, she’s great. Really great.”  
  
“She likes it up there?”  
  
“Oh, she loves it. The stuff Chow Mein orders, she just loves it. The problem is that she doesn’t want to let him sell it.” He laughed. “He got in a shipment of old beauty kits, and she couldn’t stop admiring them. He let her keep one, and she does her makeup differently every day.”  
  
Kobra smiled. “I guess she got tired of blue.”  
  
“I imagine so. She can’t believe that she can choose her own makeup now. He found her a couple of new wigs, too. She loves them.”  
  
“That’s great, man. I can’t wait until I can visit her.”  
  
“Neither can she. I think she’s even planning out what outfit she’ll wear when you visit.”  
  
Kobra smiled fondly and rested his cheek against Poison’s head.  
  
After talking and smoking for half an hour, Cherri announced that he had to get back to work at Chow Mein’s. “Take care of yourself, okay?” he said to Kobra.  
  
“Will do. You too, man.”  
  
“I will. And you too, Poison,” he said, patting his shoulder.  
  
Poison nodded and thanked him, and Cherri hitched his backpack over his shoulders and headed out the door. When he was gone, Kobra raised his arms above his head and stretched, then placed his hands on his hips and popped his back.  
  
“That stuff was amazing,” Kobra said. “I can’t believe Dracs are getting high off it.”  
  
“I heard about that a while back,” Poison said. “A Drac got high at work and sang ‘Tubthumper’ on the intercom for ten minutes.”  
  
“Are you serious?”  
  
“Yeah! It was in the _Times_ a few months ago.”  
  
“The whole song, or just the chorus?”  
  
“Didn’t say.”  
  
“That’s insane. These Dracs are getting out of control, man.”  
  
“Yeah. Sounds like the city needs to tighten the reins.”  
  
Poison was aware of an uncomfortable pressing feeling in his bladder. He grimaced slightly.  
  
“I think I need to take a leak,” he said. “What about you?”  
  
Anxiety flashed across Kobra’s face. “Oh,” he said. “Yeah, I do, but—”  
  
“Well, you made it out there once,” Poison said, trying to keep his voice upbeat. “You can do it again.”  
  
“I can’t go out there again.” Kobra’s voice was suddenly shaky. “Just get the bottle, man. Okay? That was the deal.”   
  
“No, come on. Remember what Pony told you?”  
  
“No, I can’t do it, I—”  
  
Poison stood in front of Kobra and placed his hands on his shoulders. “Kobra. Hey. Look at me. What did Pony tell you?”  
  
“Some shit breathing, I don’t know, I don’t remember—”  
  
“What else did he say? He said that if you have an attack, just accept the anxiety. Don’t fight it. Accept it.”  
  
“I can’t accept it!”  
  
“Yes, you can. Just go with it. Shh. Come on.” He rubbed Kobra’s shoulders. “It’s okay. Nothing’s going to happen to you. You’re just getting yourself worked up.”  
  
Kobra’s eyes were growing watery, and his breathing was ragged. _Shit, what would Pony say?_ Poison thought frantically. “Hey, what did he say about your breathing? Huh?” Poison said. “Take a deep breath.”  
  
“I can’t—”  
  
“Yes you can. Do it with me. Like this.” Poison took a deep breath, then exhaled. “Just like that. Come on. You do it.”  
  
Kobra closed his eyes and took a deep, shaky breath, then let it out.  
  
“Good. That’s good. Do it again.”  
  
Kobra took a few more deep breaths. His breathing started to slow.  
  
“Good. There you go. See? You can do it. Now come on. Let’s go.”  
  
“No!”  
  
“Kobra, you can’t stay locked up in here forever! I know you can do this! You already did it earlier!”  
  
Kobra’s eyes were growing watery, and Poison pulled him into a quick hug. “It’s okay, Kid,” he said. “It’s okay. I know you can do this. That’s why I’m pushing you. Let’s get it over with, all right?”  
  
He placed a hand on his back and gently led him to the door. Kobra trembled as he unlocked it and pushed it open. “Just remember your breathing,” he said. “Take deep breaths.”  
  
Kobra breathed deeply and slowly as they walked down the hallway. His breathing started to even out, but his body was still tense. He wiped his eyes on the palms of his hands. When they reached the front doors, he gave a sharp intake of breath, but pushed the doors open and trudged outside.  
  
After Kobra used the outhouse, Poison relieved himself as quickly as possible. Then he placed a hand on Kobra’s back again and they headed back to the motel. He noticed that Kobra’s breathing was steadier, and some of the color had returned to his face. Thinking Kobra had calmed down enough to pause, Poison said “Hey! Look! See those wildflowers?”  
  
He pointed to the field across the road, which was dotted with orange wildflowers. For a moment, Kobra’s muscles relaxed, the worry disappeared from his face, and he smiled. “Wow,” he said. “When did those spring up?”  
  
“Must have been after the rains. They’re nice, huh?”  
  
“Yeah. They’re beautiful.”   
  
They pushed through the glass doors and walked down the hallway, Kobra growing less tense with every step. “That wasn’t as bad as last time, right?” Poison said. “You’re getting better.”  
  
Kobra laughed shortly. “Yeah. Maybe I’ll make it back to the diner by the time I’m sixty.”  
  
“It won’t take that long. By the end of the week, if you can make it into town, there’s a library I really want to show you.”  
  
“Oh yeah?”  
  
“Yeah, they’ve got these great sci-fi books. I was going to bring them back here, but she wouldn’t let me check them out.”  
  
“Because we’re Killjoys?”  
  
“Oh, no, she does it with everyone. But that reminds me. Did I tell you about the guys at the diner?”  
  
Half an hour later, Poison was sitting cross-legged on his bed with a journal in his lap, sketching with a stubby pencil. Kobra watched him intently with his head cradled in his hand. Poison sketched a somewhat bulky figure of a man sitting down, then started to scratch in his hair in long, straight lines.  
  
“Dr. D,” Kobra said suddenly.  
  
Poison grinned. “Yup.” He filled in the hair with black lines, sketched a pair of sunglasses and a grim smirk, drew the detail on his jacket, and stopped. “I hate drawing his wheelchair,” Poison said. “I can never remember exactly what it looks like.”  
  
“Just draw him sitting in a chair,” Kobra said. “One of those soft chairs, like Dr. Fujiwara had.”  
  
Poison sketched a large, soft chair with wooden legs and a flower pattern. Kobra laughed as he added small wheels to the legs. Then he drew a skinny frame clutching a helmet in his hand.  
  
“Pony,” Kobra said. “The helmet gives it away, dude. I tell you this every time.”  
  
“How do you know I’m not drawing you?”  
  
“Because he’s standing up straight. I’ve never stood up straight in my life.”  
  
Poison sketched over his legs so that the knees bent slightly inward. Kobra laughed and elbowed him playfully in the ribs. But he smiled fondly as Poison drew his jacket and zebra-striped shirt and outlined the cartoon face on his helmet.  
  
“This one’s going to be hard,” Poison said. “I’ve only met them once, so forgive me if I screw it up.”  
  
He drew a curved female figure, then sketched in bangs and chin-length hair.  
  
“Blue,” Kobra said. Poison drew a knee-length black dress and elbow-length black gloves, and outlined a plastic poncho with a hood. He added large eyes, a small nose, and full lips, remembering the androids’ generic beauty.  
  
“That’s pretty close,” Kobra said. “We’ll have to show that to her.”  
  
“You want to show her this?” Poison said. “Then hang on, let me ink it.”  
  
He dug a half-dry black pen out of his zippered bag, pulled the cap off with his teeth, and outlined the drawing with blunt, sharp lines. He scribbled in the dress and gloves, then colored the hair and mouth with a blue colored pencil. After dashing _PP_ next to her foot, he held it up for Kobra to see.  
  
“That’s great,” Kobra said, taking the book. “Yeah. You really nailed her personality.”  
  
“Oh yeah?”  
  
“Yeah, it’s perfect.” He handed the book back to Poison. “I don’t know how you do it, man. You just sketch out these lines and bang out a masterpiece.”  
  
Poison smiled. “I’m not that good, kiddo,” he said. “Have I ever shown you Zane Dawson’s stuff?”  
  
After Poison told Kobra about Zane Dawson for the hundredth time, and drew Cherri, Chow Mein, and Ghoul riding a tortoise, Kobra’s transmitter buzzed. He jumped, then unclipped it from his belt and held it up to his ear.  
  
“Hello?” he said.  
  
“Kobra? Is that you?” Jet’s voice crackled with static.  
  
“Jet! Yeah, it’s me. What’s up?”  
  
“I just wanted to check up on you. I was going through a box of papers in the storage closet and I found this magazine…”  
  
While Kobra and Jet talked on the transmitter, Poison’s eyes fell back to his sketchbook. The drawing of Blue looked odd. What had he forgotten? He realized that her feet were bare. But did she wear knee-high boots or high heels? Poison frowned, then sketched in heels with his pencil. He could always change it to boots later.  
  
Blue gazed at him from the paper. Her eyes should have been cold and robotic, but they flickered with life even in the drawing. Was she merely advanced technology, or was consciousness burrowed in the wires and chips in her brain? Poison sank into deep thought, and his mind drifted to the morning he had met her.  
  
—-  
  
Dr. Fujiwara lifted Poison’s jacket out of the sink. “I think this is about dry,” she said. “Goodness, what a downpour we had last night.”  
  
“Yeah,” Poison said. “It was nice to get some rain out here, though.” He stood up and took the jacket from her. The back was still slightly damp, but otherwise it was dry. He pushed his arms through the sleeves. “Thank you.”  
  
“No problem at all.”   
  
Poison was trying to think of something to say to break the silence when Ghoul appeared in the doorway.  
  
“Morning,” he said. Dr. Fujiwara turned around and smiled at him. “Hey, is that my vest?” Ghoul said, heading toward the counter. He lifted it up and squeezed it for wet spots.  
  
“It’s all dry,” Dr. Fujiwara said as she folded Kobra’s jacket.  
  
“Oh, good.” He shrugged it on. “Sorry for tracking water all over the place last night.”  
  
“That’s all right. Are you Killjoys always that messy?”  
  
“Usually, we’re worse. Morning, Poison,” he added.  
  
Poison opened his mouth to reply, but the words caught in his throat. Kobra had appeared in the doorway. His hair was disheveled, and his eyes were bleary and shadowed.  He wrapped his arms around himself and stood there uncomfortably.   
  
“Good morning,” Dr. Fujiwara said calmly.  
  
“Yeah. Good morning,” Kobra said weakly, raising a hand.  
  
“You can sit down at the table. I’ll get breakfast started. And here’s your jacket.”  
  
“Thank you.” After putting on his jacket, Kobra pulled out a chair and sat down, then laced his fingers together and stared down at the table. Poison pulled out a chair and sat down in front of him.  
  
“How’d you sleep, kiddo?” he said.  
  
Kobra ran a hand through his stringy hair. “Not bad. About six hours, I guess.” He laced his fingers together again, and Poison noticed that his hands were shaking slightly.  
  
“How are you feeling?” Poison said.  
  
Kobra laughed humorlessly. “Like shit.”  
  
The room was silent. Poison’s exhaustion weighed on him, and he wanted to lay his head on the table and sleep.  
  
“I’m glad you’re back, Kid,” he said quietly. Kobra tried to smile, but his expression was as tired as Dr. Death Defying’s when he recalled the Helium Wars.  
  
“Well, I suppose I should start breakfast,” Dr. Fujiwara said after a few moments of silence. She opened the freezer door and took out two frozen boxed meals with colorful packaging and Japanese writing. The freezer was crammed with stacks of frozen food.  
  
“You know, you might want to keep that fridge locked up,” Ghoul said as she tore a strip off the end of the first box. “There are a lot of assholes out here who would steal that stuff.”  
  
She looked up in surprise. “Really? That’s terrible.”  
  
“Yeah, people are jerks. To be honest, you’ll want to keep all your cabinets permanently locked. People will steal anything out here.”  
  
She frowned as she pulled a black plastic tray out of the box. “Goodness. I didn’t know people were so nasty.”  
  
Ghoul nodded. “Yeah, it’s a problem. Someone stole my cassette tapes once. I had to listen to Poison’s shitty Trans America tapes for a week straight.”  
  
“They’re not shitty!” Poison said.  
  
“It’s shitty when it’s the only thing in the boom box, day after day, hour after hour, because Poison throws a fit if you try to put on the radio.”  
  
“You should be thanking me, man. The bands you listen to are horrible.”  
  
“Yeah, whatever.”  
  
“No, I’m serious. Ratchet Matches?”  
  
“The hell are you talking about? That’s a great band!”  
  
“No, it isn’t! It sounds like some guy grinding his chainsaw on a block of concrete.”  
  
“Dude, I’m not having this argument again.”  
  
Poison shook his head in disbelief. “Look, I’m just saying that—”  
  
“Well, I hope you all like frozen food,” Dr. Fujiwara said before they could argue further. “I suppose I should learn how to cook, but I’ve never been any good at it.” She slipped the plastic trays in the oven and switched it on.  
  
“Frozen food’s good,” Ghoul said. “I haven’t had a good frozen meal in a long time.”  
  
“Yeah,” Poison said. “When’s the last time we had one?”  
  
“Oh, jeez, it was about…two years ago? If you consider ‘mildly lukewarm’ frozen.”  
  
Dr. Fujiwara’s brow furrowed in concern. “I had no idea it was so hard for you!” she said. “Is it really that bad?”  
  
Ghoul nodded. “Yep. And we’re some of the better-off ones. At least we’ve got a car and a roof over our heads.”  
  
Her mouth opened in shock. She leaned against the counter and folded her arms, deep in thought. Poison snuck a glance at Kobra, who sat quietly with his eyes lowered.  
  
Ten minutes later, the oven dinged. Dr. Fujiwara pulled a red oven mitt from a drawer, pulled the trays out, and laid them on the table. Poison was hit with a memory of him and Kobra sitting at the kitchen table when they were children while their mother pulled a homemade green bean casserole out of the oven. She opened a can of Better Living fried onions and started sprinkling them over the tray.  
  
“Do you want something to drink?” Dr. Fujiwara said, opening the fridge. “What am I saying? Of course you do.”   
  
“Do you still have some of those fruit sodas?” Ghoul said.  
  
“Yes, I do.”  
  
“I’ll take one of those. Peach, if you’ve got it.”  
  
She took out a peach soda and handed it to him. “How about you, Party Poison?” she said.  
  
“Uh…let’s go with apple.”  
  
She handed him an apple soda. “Do you want one, Kobra Kid?” she said.  
  
“No thanks,” Kobra said.  
  
“I could make some coffee, if you don’t mind instant.”  
  
“No, uh—just water would be fine.”  
  
“Just water? All right. That’s what I’m having, too. Good for the system.”  
  
After pouring water from a plastic bottle in two glasses, she handed out plates, silverware, and napkins and sat down at the table. Then she peeled the plastic wrap off the top of the black trays. Steam unfurled and a hot, fishy smell poured out.  
  
“Well, dig in,” she said. “I’m sorry I’m not very good at this. I’m not used to having guests.”  
  
“You’re doing great,” Ghoul said. “We’ve had way worse. Trust me.”  
  
“Oh goodness.”  
  
Poison peered into the tray in front of him. Tucked in individual compartments were two orange slabs of fish, thick yellow omelette squares, white rice, and a clump of sticky beans. He speared a piece of fish with his fork and dropped it on his plate, then took two omelette squares and a few spoonfuls of rice and beans. The food was mildly bland, but he chewed each bite slowly and sucked the juices out of the fish before swallowing. He snuck glances at Kobra whenever he took a sip of soda, expecting him to gobble down his food, but he chewed small spoonfuls of rice and beans and cut a few strips off the fish. His eyes never left his plate.  
  
“I’ll wake up the women before you go,” Dr. Fujiwara said to Kobra. “I know they’ll want to say goodbye to you.”  
  
Kobra nodded with his eyes lowered. “What’s going to happen to them?” he said.  
  
“I’ll arrange transportation back to the city. They should be gone within a week.”  
  
Kobra’s eyes widened. “Back to the city? Where they’ll just have to sell themselves again?”  
  
Dr. Fujiwara explained the Kelley laws, but Kobra didn’t look convinced.  
  
“Can’t they stay in the desert?” he said. “If you put a wig and some clothes on them, and wash off that lipstick, they could be anybody. People won’t look twice at them. They could get normal jobs, not have to sleep with strangers for money anymore.”  
  
“Believe me, I’ve considered it,” Dr. Fujiwara said. “But the problem is Plus, the battery charger. Without that, they’ll be dead in a month.”  
  
“Can’t you get some shipped out here?”  
  
“I’m afraid not. Plus is far too closely regulated for that.”  
  
Kobra sawed off a piece of fish and pushed it around on his plate before eating it.  
  
“Look, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful,” he said. “I’m super thankful for everything you’ve done for us. But even with those laws, aren’t they still being exploited? I mean, doesn’t that bother you?”  
  
She nodded and wiped her mouth with a napkin. “It does,” she said. “I wish there were another way.”  
  
After the meal, Dr. Fujiwara brought a bar of soap, a small towel, and a package of disposable razors from her storage closet and handed Kobra the bottle of water she had opened earlier. “You look like you could use a shave,” she said. “I don’t have a bathroom, I’m afraid, but there’s an outhouse out back if you need it.”  
  
A strange shiver passed across Kobra’s face.  
  
“I know these are pink,” she said as she tore open the package of razors. “They’re women’s razors. I hope you don’t mind.”  
  
“Oh, no,” Kobra said. “These are great. I haven’t had a new razor in two years.”  
  
“You haven’t? Well, you can keep this one.”  
  
Poison and Ghoul sat down in the living room while Kobra leaned over the kitchen sink and rubbed soap on his bristly jaw. Dr. Fujiwara sat down at the kitchen table and started writing something in a notebook.  
  
“God, it must be nice to be so rich that you can give away razors,” Ghoul muttered, leaning toward Poison.  
  
“I bet she has ten more boxes in that storage closet,” Poison murmured back.  
  
“Probably. Hey, listen—does Kobra seem off to you?”  
  
“Yeah! I thought he’d be feeling better after he got some sleep, but he’s so down.”  
  
“I know, man. It hurts just looking at him.”  
  
They watched Kobra in silence for a moment. The razor made a scraping sound as it scratched against his jaw.  
  
“What do you think they did to him?” Ghoul said. “I’m not seeing any signs of serious injuries, besides those burns, but he’s really freaked out.”  
  
“Maybe they messed with his head,” Poison said, dread coiling in the pit of his stomach.  
  
“Yeah. Maybe.” Another pause. “God, I hope this hasn’t knocked him right back into depression. Poor kid.”  
  
“Yeah,” Poison said softly. “Poor kid.”  
  
Kobra leaned over the sink and drizzled water through his hair, then started lathering it up with soap. After he had washed it out, Dr. Fujiwara brought him a shiny black comb. He sat down at the kitchen table and started hacking at the knots in his hair. Then he paused and laid the comb down on the table.  
  
“I’ll let Blue do it,” he said. “It’s kind of…our thing, I guess.”  
  
Dr. Fujiwara smiled and nodded. “Do you want me to show you where the outhouse is?” she said.  
  
“Yeah, if you don’t mind.”  
  
“Not at all.” She stood up, closed the notebook and tucked it under her arm, and pushed in the chair. “It’s right behind the house. I’ll show you the way.”  
  
Kobra followed her to the doorway, but when she opened the door and stepped out onto the porch, he stopped. A panicked look appeared on his face. His heart pounding, Poison slowly rose up from the couch and drew his gun from his holster. Was one of the Blood Moons parked right outside the house?  
  
“What is it?” Dr. Fujiwara said urgently. “What’s wrong?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Kobra said. “I-I don’t…” He stepped back, his eyes wide and frightened. “Oh God. I can’t—”  
  
“What is it?” Ghoul said threateningly. “Is someone out there?” He yanked his gun out of his holster and marched over to the doorway.  
  
“No, no, they’re not, it’s—shit, I don’t know.” He backed away from the doorway and Dr. Fujiwara hurried back inside.  
  
“You need to sit down,” she said. “You’re so pale.” She guided Kobra over to the couch, where he sat down and tucked his hands between his knees, breathing hard. Poison sat down next to him and rubbed his back.  
  
“What happened?” Ghoul said. “Did you see something?”  
  
Kobra shook his head. “No,” he said. “No, I just—God. I don’t know. When I got to the doorway, I just started panicking.”  
  
“Sounds like a panic attack,” Poison said to Ghoul, who nodded as he mopped sweat off his forehead with a bandana.  
  
“A panic attack?” Kobra said. “Oh God. That’s all I fucking need.”  
  
Poison bit his lip. With the stubble gone, Kobra looked more like his ordinary self, but heavy shadows lurked beneath his eyes. He reached out and squeezed Kobra’s hand.  
  
“All right,” Ghoul said, sitting beside him on the couch. “After you calm down, I think you need to tell us what happened.”  
  
“He doesn’t need to tell us now,” Poison said. “It’s not important. The important thing is—”  
  
“No, no. He needs to get it out,” Ghoul said firmly. “It’s obviously torturing him. Just relax and take your time, Kid. We’ve got all day.”  
  
Kobra took deep breaths and rubbed his face with his hands. Eventually he looked at Ghoul, who looked at him encouragingly, and started to speak. He managed to talk about his capture in detail, but once he reached the hideout, he summarized the rest of the story. He mentioned the starvation and the burnings, and the general anxiety that permeated the atmosphere. When he told them about his fright whenever the women left the room and the door closed, Poison said “Ah!” and nodded in realization. He spoke about the women with fondness, and sometimes a hint of a smile played on his lips, but it was mixed with sadness when he spoke about what they had to do. Finally, he told them about Blue and their affection for each other. When he was finished, he tucked his hands between his knees again and took a shaky breath.  
  
They were silent for a long time. Finally Ghoul said “I’m so sorry, Kid. Believe me, we were doing everything we could to find you.”  
  
“I know,” Kobra said. “It’s all right. Don’t worry about it.”  
  
“We’re not going to let those guys get away with this,” Ghoul said. “Don’t worry about that. Those assholes aren’t going to mess with you ever again.”  
  
Kobra smiled sadly. His entire body seemed to sag under an invisible weight.  
  
After much refusing and protesting from Kobra, they finally convinced him to relieve himself in a bucket, which Ghoul dumped out behind the outhouse. Kobra sat on the couch and cradled his face in his hands. Poison and Dr. Fujiwara tried to reassure him that it wasn’t his fault, but he shook his head. Finally, Dr. Fujiwara said “Why don’t you go talk to Blue? I’m sure she’s dying to see you again.”  
  
Kobra looked up. “Is she still here?”  
  
“She’s in the attic, yes. They’re staying with me for the week. Do you want to see her?”  
  
“Yeah! Yeah, I do. Right now?” A hint of excitement crept into his voice, and Poison was relieved that he could still feel excitement.  
  
“Right now.” Dr. Fujiwara stood up from the chair. “I’ll take you to the attic. Some of them might be sleeping, but I’ll wake them up for you.”  
  
Poison and Ghoul didn’t move, but Kobra gestured for them to follow as he stood up. “Come on. You guys should meet them.”  
  
They followed Dr. Fujiwara to a door at the end of the hallway. Poison expected it to contain a staircase, but when she opened it, there was only a sturdy wooden ladder leaning against the wall. Dr. Fujiwara climbed up the steps and pushed open the trap door. Poison and Ghoul exchanged glances, then followed Kobra up the ladder and into the attic.  
  
Light streamed in through a circular window near the roof. Lined on the floor were five dark blue sleeping bags, surrounded by stacks of boxes, a crate of books with shiny plastic covers, a wooden rocking chair, a few musty cushions, a bowl of fake plastic fruit, and a round clothing rack with wire hangers that held a few plain T-shirts and skirts. The walls, roof, and floors were made of thin wood panels.  
  
A purple-haired woman peered outside with her hands on the edge of the window. Like the others, she wore a plastic hooded poncho, a short black dress, and shiny black gloves and boots. A yellow-haired woman sat on one of the sleeping bags, and a green-haired woman pulled a plastic comb through her hair. The rocking chair quietly creaked as an orange-haired woman rocked back and forth with her arms folded and her legs crossed. A blue-haired woman wore a stained white skirt with two buttons on the side and a maroon dress shirt with a decorative flower near the shoulder. She still wore the black gloves and boots, but her dress and poncho were puddled at her feet. She flipped through the clothes on the rack with her lips pursed in concentration.  
  
“Oh good, no one’s asleep,” Dr. Fujiwara said. “Excuse me, ladies. Your friend wanted to say goodbye to you before he—”  
  
“ _Kobra!_ ” The blue-haired woman, who Poison assumed was Blue, dashed over to Kobra and threw her arms around him. Kobra grinned and hugged her tightly. The other women stopped their activities to watch, and Green gasped in delight.  
  
“Do you like it here?” Kobra said when they separated. “It’s better than that tiny room, right?”  
  
“It’s wonderful!” Blue said. “There’s so much more to do here, and Dr. Fujiwara said I can wear whatever clothes I want!”  
  
“That’s great!” Kobra said. “You look wonderful.”  
  
She beamed at him. “Thank you! Who are these people? Are these your friends?”  
  
“What? Oh, yeah—that’s Fun Ghoul, and that’s my brother Party Poison.”  
  
Blue’s eyes popped open and her mouth dropped when she saw Poison. She crept up to him, her eyes fixed on something above him. Poison frowned and looked around, but didn’t see anything. She reached toward him and he flinched back.  
  
“It’s okay,” Kobra said as he hugged Green, who had hurried up to him when Blue left. “I think she just likes your hair.”  
  
Blue placed her hands on either side of his face and gazed at his hair, her mouth still open and her eyes glittering. Then she broke out into a grin.  
  
“Your hair is so beautiful,” she said.  
  
Poison tried to smile. “Thank you.”  
  
She held her gaze for several moments, then pulled away and stepped back. “I’ve heard so many stories about you,” she said. “You’re one of the bravest men I’ve ever met.”  
  
A genuine smile crept onto Poison’s face. “Oh, I don’t know about that,” he said.  
  
“No. You are. Kobra told us all about your bravery. You are worthy of the color red. Do not forget that.”  
  
She smiled at him, then turned to Ghoul. “And you are equally brave. And funny, too! My friends and I could not stop laughing at your stories.”  
  
Ghoul laughed. “Oh, no. What did he tell you?”  
  
“Well, first he told us a story about a tortoise—”  
  
“Oh, man, he told you that?”  
  
“Don’t be ashamed! It was a hilarious story! You have to tell us more!”  
  
“Oh, I’m not that funny. I’m just an everyday, ordinary guy. Riding turtles, falling on my ass. That’s my life.”  
  
“That must be a wonderful life.” She spotted Kobra kneeling in front of Yellow and said “Excuse me,” then hurried away.  
  
“Isn’t it weird that they can understand humor?” Ghoul said in a low voice. “I mean, how do they program them to understand a _joke_?”  
  
“I don’t think it’s programming,” Dr. Fujiwara said.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Nevermind. I’ll explain later.”  
  
Kobra had taken brush from his jacket pocket and handed it to Blue. She knelt down behind him and started tugging it through his hair.  
  
“I wonder what that’s about,” Ghoul said.  
  
Green sat down on the sleeping bag beside them and beckoned toward Poison. He frowned curiously and peered behind him, but she laughed and said “Yes, you!” When he sat down on the sleeping bag, she held a black plastic comb. “Would you like me to brush your hair?” she said.  
  
“My hair?” He reached up and touched his hair. “Oh, uh—yeah, sure. It’s getting pretty messy, huh?”  
  
“Oh, not at all. You have beautiful hair.” Poison turned around, and she took a clump of hair and started pulling the comb through it. “If you worked at a hair salon, I’m sure that you would be very rich.”  
  
Poison laughed. “Thanks. You know, I had a job at one of those when I was sixteen. That’s where I first got the idea to dye my hair red.”  
  
“I’m glad that you did. Red hair is a sign of wealth and luxury. Only the most expensive pornodroids have red hair.”  
  
“Congrats, man,” Kobra said. Poison smiled and flipped him off.  
  
“Shall I brush your hair next, Dr. Fujiwara?” Green said.  
  
“That would be lovely. Thank you.”  
  
“And yours afterward, Fun Ghoul?”  
  
“Oh—I’m good. Thank you.”  
  
“Very well. Oh, it has been a long time since I’ve seen hair like this,” Green said. She held the now-straight clump in her hand. “It’s marvelous. So marvelous.”  
  
Poison noticed that Blue bit her lip and blinked back tears.  
  
When Kobra’s hair was straight and smooth, he thanked Blue and tucked the brush back in his pocket. Green patted Poison’s head and told him she was finished not long after. Poison stood up and touched his hair. It fell limply on either side of his face, instead of sticking up at odd angles with hard, knotted clumps.  
  
“Well, I think maybe we should head back to the diner,” Ghoul said. “What do you say, Kid?”  
  
Kobra suddenly froze. He looked back at Blue, who was looking back at him with her eyes wide.  
  
“Do you still have my number, Party Poison?” Dr. Fujiwara said. Poison nodded. “Good. You can call them whenever you like during the next week,” she said to Kobra.  
  
Kobra shakily pushed himself to his feet. “Isn’t there any way they could stay out here?” he said. “Any way they could be charged without that Plus?”  
  
She shook her head. “I’m afraid not. They could stay out here with a month and a half at most, with a full charge. But in the end, they would have to return to the city.”  
  
“Well, can’t they go to the city, get charged, and come back?”  
  
She smiled sympathetically. “I don’t think the city would allow that, Kobra Kid. I’m sorry.”  
  
“But there’s gotta be something. We can’t send them back there. There’s gotta be another way they can get charged.”  
  
Dr. Fujiwara paused, then walked over to the crate of books. “I think I have a spare technical manual,” she said, rifling through one of the stacks. “Yes. Here it is.” She handed him a thick book with a shiny white cover and a ray gun diagram on the front. “If you come up with anything, feel free to call me. Perhaps that can be your project for the week.”  
  
Poison had a feeling she knew how important it would be to keep Kobra’s mind occupied.  
  
“Thank you,” Kobra said. “I’m not good at this technical stuff, but—I’ll try.”  
  
“You’re welcome.” She paused. “I hope you find something. I truly do. It’s something I’ve thought about for a long time.”  
  
Kobra nodded, then reached out toward her. “Thank you so much,” he said as they shared a quick hug. “You’ve done so much for us. Thank you.”  
  
“You’re welcome. I hope that we see each other again.”  
  
“Me too. Well, not like this, I hope.”  
  
Green bounced up to him, and he squeezed her. “Goodbye, Green,” he said. “Thanks for everything. You were sweet.”  
  
“You’re very welcome. I will treasure our time spent together.”  
  
Purple appeared, and he gave her a quick hug. He bent down and hugged Yellow, then smiled at Orange, who gave him a somewhat friendly look in return. Finally he turned to Blue, who stood with her hands laced together and her eyes filled with tears.  
  
“I am so sorry that you can’t stay with us,” she whispered.  
  
“So am I,” Kobra said. They wrapped their arms around each other and hugged for a long time. “God, I wish you could stay out here.”  
  
“Red would want me to stay,” she whispered. “Her spirit lives here, in the desert skies.”  
  
Kobra’s eyes welled up, and he hugged her tighter. “You two’ll be together, okay? I’ll figure it out. I promise.”  
  
Eventually they separated, and Kobra wiped his eyes on the back of his hand. Blue’s tears dripped down her latex glove, and he handed her a bandana from his pocket. “Keep it,” he said when she started to give it back. Poison wrapped an arm around Kobra’s shoulders as they headed for the trap door.


	8. Chapter 8

After Ghoul and Poison loaded the jugs and buckets of water in the trunk, placed Kobra’s clothes in the backseat, and thanked Dr. Fujiwara, they slipped on their boots and headed for the door. Kobra immediately seized up, but Ghoul placed a hand on his back and pushed him out the doorway.  
  
“Don’t even think about it. Just go.”  
  
Kobra shook his head, his breathing coming in rapid gasps.  
  
“Come on. You’ve got to make it to the car. Let’s go.”  
  
He pushed Kobra through the porch, down the steps, and up to the Trans Am, where Kobra wrenched open the back door and threw himself inside. Poison slid in next to him while Ghoul took the driver’s seat.  Kobra clutched the technical manual to his chest like an unpopular student hiding from bullies in the library.  
  
“It’s okay,” Poison said as he rubbed his back. “It’s okay. Just take deep breaths.”  
  
Kobra was shaking now. He whimpered when Ghoul switched on the engine and headed out onto the road.  
  
“It’s okay, Kid. We’re going home now.” Poison wrapped his arms around him and rubbed his arm. “Shh, shh.”  
  
Squeezing the book so hard that his knuckles turned white, Kobra trembled during the entire ride back to the diner. He avoided looking outside and kept his eyes fixed on the back of the seat in front of him. His body was as taut as a stretched rubber band, and he seemed to be pressing in on himself, trying to make himself smaller. If not for the embarrassment, Poison felt like Kobra would have curled up into a ball on the floor.  
  
When they finally pulled up to the diner, Kobra pushed through the doors, ran past Jet and Cherri, and disappeared into the kitchen. Jet and Cherri stared at the kitchen for a moment, then turned to Poison, who was lugging two jugs of water inside.  
  
“What on earth was _that_ about?” Jet said.  
  
“What happened to him?” Cherri said. “I’ve never seen him look that scared.”  
  
“He’s—” Poison dropped the jugs on the nearest table and pushed the hair out of his eyes. “It’s bad. He’s been having panic attacks.”  
  
While Ghoul brought the rest of the water inside, Poison summarized what Kobra had told them. Cherri shook his head in disbelief, while Jet listened with silent disgust.  
  
“That’s just terrible,” Cherri said when he was finished. “I never thought a gang of neutrals could scare a full-grown man into having panic attacks.”  
  
“Yeah,” Poison said. “I know. He can’t even step outside without panicking.”  
  
There was a soft noise from the kitchen, like a whimper. Poison glanced at Cherri and Jet, then headed over and peered around inside. The mattresses were empty. Poison frowned, then heard another whimper and jumped back. Kobra was huddled next to the doorway.  
  
“Hey, Kid,” he said softly, crouching down. “What’s wrong?”  
  
Kobra let out a choked sob. “It won’t stop, man. I can’t make it stop.”  
  
“What? You can’t make what stop?”  
  
“This panicking. I come in here and it’s t-too dark, but out there it’s too open, it’s like s-something’s going to swoop in and grab me, it’s—” He let out another sob. “Oh God, it won’t stop. Please, make it stop.”  
  
Poison grabbed Kobra and held him close. Kobra wrapped his arms around his waist and sobbed and shook against him. Poison rubbed his back and shushed him, but Kobra’s tension didn’t ease. After a while, Kobra pulled away and leaned against the wall in defeat.  
  
“Come on,” Poison said gently. “I think this room is making you upset. Why don’t you come out for a while? Sit out in the diner with the rest of us.”  
  
Kobra shakily rose to his feet and let Poison lead him out of the room and into the main area. But when Poison tried to direct him to a booth, he stepped back and frantically shook his head.  
  
“I-I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just—it’s too open.”  
  
“Nothing’s going to happen to you, kiddo,” Poison said desperately. “We’re all here. We’ll all protect you.”  
  
“I know, but—” His breathing became harsh and ragged.  
  
“Okay. Okay.” Poison waved his hands around, feeling a little panicked himself. “Here. Sit down at the counter.”  
  
Kobra sat on one of the stools in front of the counter. Poison sat down next to him and rested his elbow on the edge of the counter.  
  
“You’re okay, kiddo,” Poison said. “It’s okay.”  
  
The entire room was silent except for Kobra’s ragged breathing. He leaned forward and buried his face in his hands. Ghoul came over and placed a hand on his back, his face dark with concern.  
  
“This isn’t good,” he said to Poison. “You think we should get a medic?”  
  
Poison placed both hands on his stool and squeezed. “We can’t afford a medic. We took a bunch of work days off last week.”  
  
“It doesn’t matter. He needs help.”  
  
“Most medics aren’t trained in psychology,” Cherri said. “This looks like a mental problem, not a physical one.”  
  
Ghoul sighed through gritted teeth. “Well, can we get a therapist over here? Tell them it’s an emergency.”  
  
“Maybe he just needs some time to calm down,” Jet said.  
  
“He’s had time to calm down!” Ghoul shouted. “He pulled the same shit at Fujiwara’s place! The kid’s cracking up and he needs some fucking help!”  
  
Kobra gasped and whimpered and pressed his hands to his mouth.  
  
“Ghoul, step outside,” Jet said.  
  
Ghoul pointed at him. “No, don’t act all calm with me, I know you’re just as scared shitless as I am—”  
  
“ _Step outside_ , Ghoul.”  
  
Ghoul snarled at him, then stormed to the front doors, shoved them open, and let them slam shut. He marched over to the side of the building, shouting and gesturing violently.  
  
“All right,” Jet said calmly to Kobra. “Now, tell me how you’re feeling.”  
  
Kobra straightened and took a wobbly breath. “I feel…t-this rising panic inside me. It won’t stop, it just keeps hitting me, over and over.”  
  
“How do you feel physically?”  
  
“R-really weak. And shaky. My hands won’t stop shaking. A-and I have acid in my stomach, like I’m going to puke.”  
  
“That sounds like anxiety,” Cherri said to Jet, who nodded.  
  
“What’s bothering you?” Poison said.  
  
“God, I don’t know. I guess it’s—” He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. “You can’t hide here. Everyone knows we live in the diner, and if someone wants to take you—” He gestured to the large windows in front of them. “T-there’s nowhere to hide.”  
  
He bent over and buried his face in his hands again. Poison squeezed his shoulder, tears prickling in his eyes.  
  
“Chow Mein might be able to get ahold of some anti-anxiety pills,” Cherri said. “It won’t help much in the long run, but it’ll mellow him out for now.”  
  
Poison nodded. “Can you give him a call?”  
  
“Certainly. I’ll call him right now.”  
  
While Cherri stepped off to the side and searched for Chow Mein’s frequency on his transmitter, Jet pulled a Zone Directory from beneath the counter and started flipping through it. It was a thin stapled book with a picture of the desert on the cover and the words _Zone Directory: Zones 1-6_ beneath it. Inside were lists of people, the services they offered, and their locations and call numbers.  
  
“How are you feeling, Kobra?” Jet said as he unclipped his transmitter from his belt.  
  
“I don’t know. Like shit.”  
  
Jet nodded, then started searching for a frequency.  
  
The first therapist had moved to Zone Six, the second had no free time, and the third never picked up. Cherri reported that Chow Mein hadn’t been able to get his hands on any pharmaceuticals for a month, and didn’t expect that to change. Poison was thinking about breaking down and calling a medic when he noticed that Kobra’s breathing had evened out, and he was sitting up straighter. He slouched with his elbows resting on his legs and his hands draped between his thighs, and his hair fell in front of his eyes, but his face was no longer twisted in fear. After half an hour of sitting in silence, he even stepped off the stool and walked around the diner, but strayed away from the windows. Then he sat back down on the stool and folded his arms.  
  
As the afternoon progressed, he was able to choke down half a can of baked beans and drink some water, and he washed some clothes at the counter. People who came at the door to greet him were turned away by Poison or Ghoul, but he responded to calls on his transmitter. He helped Poison cut pictures out of a magazine for a collage ‘zine he was working on, though Poison closely watched him as he handled the scissors. But he jumped whenever he heard a small noise as if it were a gunshot, he refused to get close to the windows or doors, and whenever someone suggested that he go outside, he shook his head and backed away in panic. Sometimes the anxiety rose in him again for no reason that Poison could see, and he stopped what he was doing, pressed his face in his hands, and took deep breaths.  
  
When night came, the kitchen became pitch black, and Kobra gave it frightened glances. Whenever he had to walk past it, he hurried past the gaping maw as if he were about to be sucked in a black hole. They kept the ceiling lights on for as long as possible, but when Ghoul finally said “All right, we’re using up fuel money that we don’t have,” they switched them off and lit a candle on the counter. Kobra sat on the stool in front of the candle, the light reflected in his eyes. Poison sat next to him and took his hand, and they sat together in silence.  
  
When Poison’s eyelids became heavy and he started to nod off, he suggested that they go to bed. He took the candle and started to bring it into the kitchen, but Kobra stood in the doorway, holding himself tightly.  
  
“It’s okay, Kid,” he said. “We’ll keep the candle on tonight.”  
  
Kobra crept into the kitchen. The candlelight cast an eerie orange glow across his face, illuminating his frightened eyes. Poison placed the candle on the floor in front of their mattresses, then climbed into bed. Kobra’s mattress creaked as he lay down. Poison waited for Kobra’s breathing to even out in sleep, but it didn’t come. When exhaustion finally overtook him, he was jolted awake by the sounds of crying and gasping.  
  
“Kobra!” Poison said, throwing back his blanket and climbing onto Kobra’s mattress. “Kobra! What’s wrong?”  
  
“Oh God,” he said, shuddering violently. “Oh God, I can’t take this. It’s so dark in here.”  
  
“Oh, Kid…”  
  
“I’m sorry, man. I’m so sorry. It’s just—it was pitch black in that room, when we slept—”  
  
Poison gathered Kobra in his arms and held him until he stopped shaking. When Poison returned to his mattress, he closed his eyes and prayed that Kobra would go to sleep. But Kobra’s breathing never evened out, and Poison tossed and turned and periodically woke up to the sounds of whimpering or ragged breathing.  
  
Each morning, Poison told himself that Kobra would be better than he was the day before. While his panic attacks in the diner slowly decreased, he still refused to go anywhere near the windows or doors. He busied himself as much as possible: he cut out pictures for collages, prepared food for Ghoul to cook outside on the grill, sewed a torn pair of jeans, flipped through magazines, sat while Jet cleaned and re-bandaged his burns, made calls and orders on his transmitter, scraped wax out of candleholders to be melted into new candles, and performed other jobs at the counter. He often called their friends and asked them to bring work to do, but he wouldn’t go to the door to collect them. When a woman delivered a box of magazines to be stapled together while Ghoul and Jet were outside and Poison was busy in the storage closet, Kobra made her open the door and slide the box to him.  
  
Occasionally he finished off a half-eaten can of food, or snatched a strip of meat from Poison’s plate while he headed back to the counter, but he stopped eating full meals. He backed away from peanut butter and shuddered when Ghoul handed him a package of Better Living Nutrient Substance, thinking it would be easy for him to eat while he sorted through books to be donated to the children’s shelter. He accepted pieces of toast spread with crunchy peanut butter, so Poison often appeared at his elbow with a slice, telling him “You need to get some meat on you, kiddo.” Chow Mein scrounged up a package of powdered vitamins that Ghoul secretly stirred into Kobra’s water, hoping it would supply him with the nutrients that he was probably lacking.  
  
After the second day they stopped urging him to go outside, and instead brought it up when he seemed to be in a good mood. But the calm would immediately drop from his face, replaced with white hot panic. One day, Poison shouted at him when Kobra refused to go outside to change the price on one of the gas pumps.  
  
“It’s fifty feet away!” he shouted. “How hard is it to march fifty feet over to the gas pumps and change the fucking price?” Kobra flinched away from him, and Poison was overwhelmed with guilt.  
  
Ghoul shouted at Kobra a few times for refusing to go outside, as well as pushing away a cup of pudding and insisting that a candle be lit throughout the night. Jet remained calm throughout the week, asking Kobra how he felt and simply nodding if he declined his offers to walk down the road with him.  
  
No matter what Kobra was working on, the technical manual always lay open on the counter. Ghoul had flipped through it once, hoping to find the keys to advanced technology, but it was just basic knowledge, skills, and diagrams. Kobra pored over the ray gun and Plus diagrams and occasionally took notes with blue pen. On the second day, he quickly circled something, then grabbed his transmitter and eagerly turned it to Dr. Fujiwara’s frequency.  
  
“Hey!” he said. “Dr. Fujiwara?”  
  
“Yes,” she said. “This Kobra Kid, right?”  
  
“Yeah, it’s me. Listen, I was checking out the ray gun diagram and I noticed something. It says the charger uses the same stuff they have in Plus. Did you notice that?”  
  
“I have, yes. The problem is that a ray gun charger produces only enough energy to fire a small gun, not charge an android’s battery.”  
  
“But what if you combined them into one huge charger?”  
  
“I’m afraid that it would take several hundred, if not thousands, of those chargers for your plan to work. I’m sorry.”  
  
Kobra continued to study the diagrams and flip back in forth in the book, often holding the pen between his teeth and frowning in concentration. He called her a few more times with more suggestions, but each time she politely dashed his hopes. Ghoul suggested to Poison that they stop letting him call her, but Poison noted that it was one of the few things that gave him enthusiasm. On the fourth day, he called her with an excited lilt in his voice.  
  
“I just thought of something,” he said. “Have you ever seen what happens when an android gets shot?”  
  
“No, I haven’t.”  
  
“Well, when Blue was shot, the laser overloaded her system. She went haywire. So maybe the charger itself doesn’t do much, but the power that comes out of the gun…I mean, if you could harness that…”  
  
For the first time, Dr. Fujiwara was genuinely inquisitive. She and Kobra spoke several times throughout the rest of week. Kobra also called Blue at least once a day, told her what was happening at the diner, and listened while she shared stories about her new life in Dr. Fujiwara’s house. “We’re getting closer to figuring out a source,” he said. “I think we might have it. Hang on, okay?” Blue also told him about her technical discussions with Dr. Fujiwara, and she contributed ideas to their plan.  
  
After the first night, Kobra dragged his mattress out of the kitchen and dumped it behind the counter. The moonlight through the windows gave everything a soft blue glow, unlike the pitch blackness of the kitchen. Poison joined him on the first night, but the light kept him awake for hours, and finally had to slide his mattress back into the kitchen. He stayed near the doorway, as Kobra often tossed and whimpered and needed to be comforted, and sometimes jerked out of bed gasping and shaking after a nightmare, covered in cold sweat. A permanent weariness settled over Poison as he moved through the day, so he gulped down chicory coffee and tried to shake it off.  
  
On the seventh day, Ghoul led Poison outside and leaned against one of the gas pumps.  
  
“We need to talk, man,” he said. “All this shit with Kobra—it’s wearing you down.”  
  
“It’s not ‘shit,’” Poison said, rubbing his nose.  
  
“Yeah. I know. I’m sorry. I radioed Cherri today, but Chow Mein still doesn’t have anything. He did get some sleeping pills, though, if we want to try them. Says he’ll give them to us free, if you can believe that. I guess he feels sorry for us.”  
  
“Might as well try it out,” Poison said.  
  
“Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking. Anyway, we need to do something. He’s getting better, but it’s at a ridiculously slow rate.”  
  
“He can’t help it, Ghoul,” Poison said wearily.  
  
“I know, I know, I’m not blaming him. I’m just saying that we need to do something.”  
  
“Call that therapist, see if she had a cancellation.”  
  
“Already did, and it’s a no-go. I was thinking we should call Dr. D.”  
  
“Dr. D? Why?”  
  
“Because he’s a war vet. He’s used to this stuff. I know he still has war flashbacks from time to time.”  
  
“Doesn’t mean he’s a psychologist.”  
  
“I know, but he’ll know how to deal with this stuff. He’s probably been dealing with it for years. Maybe he can help Kobra.”  
  
Poison shrugged and leaned against the pole next to the pump.  
  
“Dude, you’re exhausted. Go lie down.”  
  
“I’m fine,” Poison said, rubbing his eyes.  
  
“No, you’re not. God, this is really getting to you.”  
  
“I’m just tired.”  
  
“From what?”  
  
“From lack of sleep.”  
  
“Why aren’t you sleeping?”  
  
“Because I’m stressed.” Poison didn’t want to incriminate Kobra, but as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realized that his excuse wasn’t much better.  
  
“All right, go lie down. I’m calling D. This shit needs to end.”  
  
The next day, Poison drove up to Dr. Death Defying’s shack. The wooden panels were covered with brightly colored spray paint words and doodles. A few cans sat on the ground next to the door. Poison picked up the yellow-capped can and hesitated, then popped off the cap and drew the profile of a man with swept-back blonde hair.  
  
Right when he was about to knock on the door, Pony stepped out. He wore a blue T-shirt and his duffel bag was slung over his arm.  
  
“Hey, babe!” he said. “You here to see the D man?”  
  
“Yeah. Are you going on a mail run?”  
  
“You bet. I’ve got five letters to deliver by noon. Don’t keep D too long, okay?” He lowered his voice. “He’s a little bitchy today.”  
  
Poison smiled. “Right. Got it.”  
  
“Okay, good luck. See you!” He patted Poison’s shoulder and skated off toward the highway.  
  
Poison stepped inside and quietly shut the door behind him. Dr. Death Defying’s shack was dimly lit with a few lightbulbs strung from the ceiling. The walls were covered with spray paint, brightly colored posters, stickers, drawings, and a few photographs. A map of the Zones hung behind his desk, and an American flag was tacked over the doorway. A shelf lined with books and papers sat next to three beanbag chairs arranged in a circle. A back door near Dr. Death Defying’s desk led to their sleeping and storage area. Dr. Death Defying’s desk was crowded with radio equipment, and stacked behind him were crates of records, CDs, and tapes.  
  
“Morning, kid,” Dr. Death said as he dug through a dusty cardboard box of cassette tapes.  
  
“Morning,” Poison said. “Did you get some new tapes?”  
  
“Yup, if you want to call it that. A couple of kids dropped them off this morning, and so far not one of them has worked.”  
  
“Oh, man. It sucks when that happens, huh? Someone dropped off an empty fuel can at the diner last month.”  
  
Dr. Death shook his head. “Well, I’m glad those kids think they’re funny.” He pushed the box to the side. “Anyway, I hear that you’re here to talk to me about your brother.”  
  
“Yeah. He’s, uh…how much did Ghoul tell you on the radio?”  
  
“He told me that about the nightmares and the panic attacks, and the ‘agoraphobia,’ as he put it. How long has this been going on?”  
  
“A week. Since he came back.”  
  
“And is he improving?”  
  
“A little, yeah, but very slowly.”  
  
Dr. Death nodded.  “Well, I’m not a doctor, whatever my name might lead you to believe, so I can’t help you with a diagnosis. But if you want to talk to Pony, he’ll tell you about meditation. That’s what I’ve been using for the past ten years. It’s not a cure, but it’ll help him find peace with it.”  
  
Poison shook his head. “It’s not going to work. He can’t sit still long enough.”  
  
“I heard Cherri told you about the breathing exercises.”  
  
“He did, yeah. He’s tried them, but they don’t help him whenever he tries to go outside.”  
  
“Right, speaking of that: Ghoul mentioned that the large windows in front of the diner are part of what’s frightening him.”  
  
Poison nodded with his eyes closed.  
  
“Is the environment he’s in making him worse?”  
  
Poison thought for a moment, swaying from side to side. “Yeah,” he said finally. “Yeah, I guess so. The windows and the kitchen freak him out. He won’t even sleep in there anymore.”  
  
“So where does he stay?”  
  
“Hangs out by the counter all day.”  
  
“And the windows and the kitchen, what do they do? Do they give him panic attacks?”  
  
“Yeah, sometimes. He avoids them all day.”  
  
Dr. Death nodded. “All right. What you need to do is get him out of there. Take him to a friend’s house, preferably one without a lot of windows, and let him calm his nerves for a bit.”  
  
“We can’t take him out of the diner.”  
  
“I know, but he’s not getting any better by staying there. Who out of your friends can he stay with?”  
  
“No one,” Poison said disinterestedly, rubbing his hair. “Too busy, or they don’t have room.”  
  
“Then a motel is probably your best bet. I know a couple of good ones up north.”  
  
Poison shook his head. “We can’t afford it. Don’t have any extra money.”  
  
“Explain your situation. They might give you a discount.”  
  
Poison’s face was lined with stress. “D, we can’t afford it.”  
  
“Poison, this isn’t about a few carbons. Your brother needs to get the hell out of there. If you don’t do it, I’m going to send Pony out there to grab him by the scruff of the neck and wheel him out.”  
  
“Fine.” Poison threw his hands out and let them fall to his sides. “Fine. I’ll call Cherri.”  
  
“No, you know what, forget the friends thing. The Killjoy life has been wearing on both of you. Go find a neutral motel and stay with him for a week.”  
  
“We can’t stay away for a week.”  
  
“Your friends will help you out. They won’t leave you in the dust.”  
  
“No, you don’t understand—”  
  
“It’s one week out of your lives. I promise you that the Fabulous Four will not drop dead if you take a week off.”  
  
“D, this isn’t the city! We can’t just go on vacation! For Christ’s sake, man—” Poison’s voice was strained.  
  
“I know that, kid,” Dr. Death said. “I’ve been out here for three decades, and I know it’s not a fucking cakewalk. But I’m the one who’s been through the wars, I’m the one with the experience, not you, and I’m telling you to get him the hell out of there before he takes his gun and fries his brains. Is that clear enough?”  
  
Poison stepped back, his face twisted in horror. “No,” he said. “Stop it! He’s not going to do that!”  
  
“I’m sorry, kid, but it happens. I’ve seen it. People crack under the pressure out here, especially when they’ve been through a trauma like the one he’s been through. Now, if you want to keep being stubborn and letting him stew in his own misery, that’s fine, but don’t come to me after the fact.”  
  
Poison weakly cocked his head to the side. Tears streamed down his face.  
  
“Kid. It’ll be okay.”  
  
Poison wiped his face on his sleeve. “Oh God, you’re right, D—what if he tries to hurt himself?”  
  
“He won’t, because we’re going to get him out of there. And what’s the deal with the money? Are you out of savings?”  
  
“No, we—” Poison sniffed. “We’ve got some, but it’s food money.”  
  
“Well, lucky for you, Pony and I came into a surplus the other day.” He opened a desk drawer and pulled out a key, then handed it to Poison.  
  
“Oh no, D! I can’t take your food!”  
  
“If you don’t, it’ll just go to waste. Pony’s not going to eat it. He keeps saying he has to ‘keep his figure,’ whatever that means.”  
  
Poison gave a watery laugh. “Thank you so much, D.” He skipped behind the desk and hugged Dr. Death, who patted his back awkwardly. “I mean it. Thank you.”  
  
“All right. You’re welcome. Just get me one of those demo tapes next time you go to a Trans America concert.”  
  
“Right. Yeah. Of course.”  
  
Poison hurried over to the safe and knelt down in front of it, then unlocked the padlock. Inside were a dozen boxes of food and a small pyramid of cans. Poison tucked two boxes of cereal, a box of rice, and three cans under his arm.  
  
“This isn’t too much?” he said, turning to Dr. Death.  
  
“Oh, no. That’s fine. Take it.”  
  
Poison closed the door and locked it, then walked back to the desk and handed him the key. “Thank you so much,” he said. “I thought we were going to starve this week.”  
  
“Pony and I wouldn’t let you starve. You know that.” He pulled out another drawer and laid a copy of the _Zone Directory_ on his desk. “All right, I’m going to make some calls. If they’re stubborn, I’ll see if I can talk them down on the price with my incredibly seductive voice.”  
  
Half an hour later, Poison marched through the front doors with the boxes and cans clutched under his arm. “Hey,” he said breathlessly to Kobra, who was kneading salt into a hunk of meat in a pan.  
  
“Hey!” Kobra said as Poison dropped the food on the table. “Oh man, I couldn’t wait for you to get back. I’ve got the best news.


	9. Chapter 9

The excitement in Kobra’s voice made Poison stop and turn. “Oh yeah?” he said. “What is it?”  
  
“She did it, man! She figured out how to charge their batteries!”  
  
“What? No way!”  
  
“Yeah! It’s a long process, but basically she figured out how to direct the laser energy into the battery, so it doesn’t scatter all over the place and make them go haywire. The charge only lasts a week, though. But if you’ve got a gun, and this little converter she made, you can keep them powered up.”  
  
“Wow,” Poison said. “So they get to stay out here?”  
  
“For now, yeah. They’ll have to go back to the city if something happens to her work, so she’s trying to figure out something more permanent. We can’t tell anyone about this, though,” he added. “If the city finds out she came up with an alternative to Plus, she’s looking at thirty years in prison.”  
  
“Right. Got it. So where are they staying?”  
  
“We’re still trying to figure that out the others. But you know how Chow Mein said we owe him for the typewriter? Blue came up with the idea to—”  
  
“—go to work for him?”  
  
“Yep. He hired Blue. I couldn’t believe it, but he said a pretty face like hers would drum up a lot of business. He thought she could be the new face of his shop. Well, and he’s only giving her two-thirds pay. That’s probably why.”  
  
Poison grinned. “That’s great, man. Maybe you can visit her sometime soon.”  
  
Kobra’s grin faltered. “Yeah. Hope so.”  
  
“I’m happy for you, kiddo.”  
  
“Thanks.” He paused. “So where did the food come from?”  
  
“Dr. D gave it to us.”  
  
“Dr. D? Really?”  
  
“Yeah. Listen, uh…how about we take a break from this place? Just chill out for a week.”  
  
Kobra raised his eyebrows. “Chill out? Where?”  
  
“D called around and found a motel that’s got room. They said we could stay there. Just lie low for a week, you know?”  
  
“A week? No, man, we can’t leave for a week. There’s too much to do.”  
  
“I called Cherri on the way back. Chow Mein hasn’t been getting a lot of business lately, so he thinks he can come over and help.”  
  
“Oh no, man, we already owe him! We can’t ask him to do that!”  
  
Poison shook his head with his eyes closed. “It doesn’t matter. Your health is more important, kiddo.”  
  
“I’ll be fine.” Kobra’s voice wavered slightly. “Look, I know I’ve been a burden to you guys, but I’ll try harder to go outside. I’ll try to go out later, I—” He seized up at the thought of it and shook his head miserably.  
  
“No, Kid, this isn’t a punishment! I’m not sending you away. I’m going with you. The past year has been rough on us. D says we need to take a break.”  
  
“What about Ghoul and Jet? It hasn’t been easy on them, either.”  
  
“We’ll do something for them later. But right now, we need to concentrate on you. You need to get out of here. This environment, it’s toxic.”  
  
Kobra took a deep breath. “I can’t go to a motel, man. You know that.”  
  
“Yes, you can. You made it here from Dr. Fujiwara’s place.”  
  
“Yeah, while panicking the whole time. And what’s going to happen when we get to the motel? What if I don’t get better?”  
  
“You will,” Poison said firmly. “You know why? Because you won’t have anything to worry about. No gang members or dark places. All you’ll have to do is relax in our nice, safe room.”  
  
When Kobra didn’t respond, Poison clasped his hand in both of his.  
  
“You need to get out of here, kiddo,” he whispered. “We both do. Once you’re out of here, you’ll feel so much better. I promise.”  
  
Kobra squeezed Poison’s hand, gazing down at the countertop with a hard look on his face. After thinking hard for a few minutes, he finally gave a slight nod.  
  
“Okay?” Poison said. “Good. D’s already arranged the room. We’ll leave tonight after dinner.”  
  
At first, Kobra continued his work without much change in his mood. But as the day wore on, his hands started to shake on and off, he refused offerings of food, and several times he had to stop working, sit down on one of the stools, cradle his face in his hands, and take deep breaths. When he called Blue, he lightly told her that he and Poison were staying at a motel to relax for a while, but the transmitter jittered in his hand.  
  
“Look, I don’t know about this,” Ghoul said in a low voice as he and Poison pretended to search for a magazine in the storage closet. “He’s just freaking out even more.”  
  
“He’ll be fine once he’s settled in,” Poison said, but as Kobra paced around in front of the counter, he didn’t quite believe it.  
  
“Well, you know what? I’ll go with him. You stay here, rest and recoup.”  
  
“No, it’s fine. I need to go.”  
  
“It’s not going to be a vacation for you. You know that.”  
  
“We need to be together. It’s the only way.”  
  
When the first stars had appeared in the sky, Poison finished his venison-and-mustard sandwich (he could only coax Kobra into taking a single bite), then climbed off the stool and said “All right, Kid, let’s head out.” Kobra’s body immediately went rigid, as if he’d been hit by a lightning bolt. Poison nearly called it off then, but he shook himself and grabbed the backpack he’d stashed beneath the counter. A few hours ago, he’d stuffed it with clothing, cans of food and bottles of water, eating utensils, a first-aid kit, art supplies, a spare transmitter, an emergency kit, two magazines, and twenty-five carbons tucked inside a secret flap in the front pocket. Kobra stepped off his stool and absentmindedly pulled on his red jacket when Ghoul handed it to him.  
  
“Goodbye, Kid,” Ghoul said, and they shared a quick hug. “Just take it easy, all right?”  
  
“Yeah. See you, man.”  
  
“Take care of yourself, Kobra,” Jet said as they embraced.  
  
“I’ll try. Thank you.” When they separated, Kobra said “Listen, uh…I know I’ve been hard to put up with this past week.”  
  
“Don’t worry about it,” Ghoul said, shaking his head. “Just focus on getting better.”  
  
After exchanging hugs and goodbyes with Jet and Ghoul, Poison slung the backpack over his shoulder. He smiled reassuringly at Kobra, and they headed for the door. He walked behind Kobra and gently nudged him outside when he hesitated at the doorway. Kobra staggered outside, clutched himself while Poison unlocked the door, and collapsed in the passenger’s seat. Poison balanced the backpack between them, then jammed the key in the slot and turned to Kobra.  
  
“Are you ready?” he said gently.  
  
Kobra hesitated, his face pale. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ve got nothing else to lose.”  
  
Poison patted his bony wrist, then switched on the engine and started to back out of the parking space. They cruised down the highway with the moon glowing overhead.  
  
—-  
  
“Yeah, you too. All right. See you.”  
  
Kobra switched off his transmitter and hooked it to his belt. Poison shook himself, then closed the journal and tucked it back in his backpack.  
  
“If you didn’t hear, Jet says hi,” Kobra said.  
  
“Oh yeah?” Poison said as he jammed the bag of supplies in the front pocket. “Tell him I said hi, too.”  
  
“Will do.”  
  
Poison crammed his bag of supplies into the backpack and zipped it up. “I’m feeling kind of hungry. What do you want for supper?”  
  
“Whatever you want. Doesn’t matter to me.”  
  
“How about hot dogs and rice?”  
  
“Sounds good.”  
  
“Great. I’ll go see if they’ll let me use their grill outside. I’ll be back in maybe twenty minutes, okay?”  
  
Poison grabbed a can of Vienna sausages, a package of rice, and a spoon, and headed out into the hallway. The woman at the front desk was cleaning a sand-encrusted ceramic pig with a cloth.  
  
“Excuse me,” he said. She looked up with a dull expression on her face. “Can I use that grill outside to heat up our food?”  
  
“Ask Fawn.”  
  
“Who’s Fawn?”  
  
“My sister. She’s outside.”  
  
“Oh, the little girl? Okay. Thank you.”  
  
She nodded without smiling and went back to cleaning the pig.  
  
Poison stepped outside, shielded his eyes with  his free hand, and peered around. Except for a tall cactus, several cars, and a few bicycles chained to the bike rack, the area in front of the building was empty. The swath of desert across the highway still bristled with orange flowers. Poison was thinking about picking some while the food warmed when someone stepped out from the side of the building. He wore a dark red jacket that was dotted with silver studs, and he had messy black hair and a strong, bristly jaw. Poison’s stomach dropped. _Oh God, no._ He started to back toward the motel, praying he could run down the hallway and lock the door and hide Kobra…  
  
“Hey, man,” Orbital said. “I think we need to talk.”  
  
“Stay away from us!” Poison cried.  
  
“Chill out. I’m not going to pull anything. See?” He raised his hands. “No weapons.”  
  
“How did you find us here?”  
  
“Well, it wasn’t too hard to figure out. We made some calls and found out that you’d been spotted here. If Party Poison shows up in a town, that’s all anyone can talk about.”  
  
Poison started to feel dizzy, and he swayed unsteadily.  
  
“Hey, relax. I’m not going to hurt you guys. Believe me, having your brother locked up for a week was a pain in the ass.”  
  
“A pain in the ass? _A pain in the_ —do you have any idea how fucked up he is? Do you realize that he can’t even step outside without launching into a panic attack? Do you know he has nightmares every night because of what you sick fucks did to him? He can’t eat, he can’t sleep—you’ve made his life hell!”  
  
“Look, calm down, man! Just let me talk to you, okay?”  
  
Poison shook his head. “No,” he said, heading for the door. “No. You stay away from us.”  
  
“Dude. Listen.”  
  
“No!”  
  
Poison was about to take off running when Orbital grabbed his arm. Poison cried out and dropped the food in the sand.  
  
“Stop it. Now listen to me. We took him for a reason.”  
  
“What? What reason?”  
  
“To send a message, okay?” He grabbed Poison’s shoulders. “Will you stop squirming and listen for a minute? This is important!”  
  
Poison stopped struggling, but his hands shook violently.  
  
“Okay. Here’s the deal. Well, first off…at some point, we kind of figured out that your brother’s not an android.”  
  
Poison gave a short, hysterical laugh.  
  
“We were hearing these reports about Kobra being kidnapped and coming back home, and we were like…damn, I guess he was real after all. But it doesn’t matter. We weren’t going to keep him forever, anyway. Probably would have let him loose in another week or so.”  
  
“Another _week?_ ”  
  
“Calm down. Look, we did this for everyone’s good, okay? Including his. You Killjoys have been messing with us for months, and I’m telling you, you don’t know what you’re dealing with.”  
  
“What? What are we dealing with?”  
  
“We’re just trying to send a message here. You Killjoys need to stay away.”  
  
“Stay away from what? What’s going on?”  
  
“All right—don’t tell this to anyone, okay? Or—hell, maybe you should tell people. Maybe then they’d back off. You know what, do what you want. I don’t care. Anyway: there’s something bigger going on here. Do you have any idea who runs this business?”  
  
“I don’t know! Better Living?”  
  
“Not just Better Living. It’s run by…listen, do you know the Director?”  
  
Poison’s blood ran cold. “The Director?”  
  
“Yeah. She’s behind the whole thing. We didn’t know it was her at first, thought it was just some SCARECROW guy, but when she gave us a call…and if you guys keep messing around here, she’s going to do a lot more than lock you up for a week.”  
  
“But—why didn’t you just tell him this?” Poison’s voice became strained. “Why did you take him?”  
  
“I told you, to send a message. No one’s going to listen if we’re nice about it.”  
  
“No.” Poison shook his head, then looked him dead in the eye. “No, you enjoyed it. You enjoyed having power over him. Just like you enjoyed having power over all those women that you owned. That’s why you got into the business in the first place, isn’t it? The power of owning another human being?”  
  
“A human being—they’re _androids,_ dickweed. They’re just a hunk of scrap metal. Frankly, your brother is an idiot for getting himself captured over them.”  
  
“Don’t say shit about my brother.”  
  
“All right. Fair enough.” Orbital released Poison and stepped back.  “I don’t know what your beef is, but—”  
  
“My _beef_ is that shitty Zone gangs like yours are what drive people away from this place, because you’re not about saving people from the city, or living a peaceful life or whatever the hell neutrals do. You’re just a bunch of insecure little kids who bully everyone else to feel powerful. I’m letting you off this time because the last thing I want is some shitty gang war, but if you ever lay a fucking hand on my brother or me or one of my friends again, we’ve got a whole lot of friends around here who won’t hesitate to pop out their chargers and blister your ass.”  
  
Adrenaline burned through Poison’s veins. He glared at Orbital with his teeth gritted like a cat showing off its fangs.  
  
“You…you better not bother us ever again,” Orbital said, jabbing a finger at Poison as he backed toward a motorcycle parked near the entrance. “We could have handed your brother over to the Director any time we wanted, but we didn’t. You just remember that.”  
 _  
_“You wouldn’t do that,” Poison said. “You’re scared shitless of her, just like we are.”  
  
“Whatever. What- _ever,_ man.”  
  
After strapping on a dark red helmet with a crescent moon painted on the back, Orbital climbed onto his motorcycle, started the engine, and roared off down the highway. Poison shook his head in disgust, then bent down and picked up the can, package, and spoon. After peering around both sides of the building, he found Fawn sitting next to an ancient dumpster in the back, drawing circles in the sand with a stick. She drizzled some fuel in the oil drum and lit the coals with a match, and he heated up the rice and sausages. When he wasn’t stirring them with the spoon, he kept his hands tucked behind his back so she wouldn’t notice that they were still shaking.  
  
When Poison returned to their room, he handed Kobra a fistful of wildflowers. They had wide orange petals that formed cups around the pollen, and stems dotted with small leaves.  
  
“Oh man, it’s the flowers!” Kobra said. “Man, the desert must be full of wildflowers right now. I wish I could see it.”  
  
“Maybe we’ll go for a drive later,” Poison said lightly.  
  
Kobra laid the flowers on his bed, his expression dim. “Yeah. That’d be nice.”  
  
He handed Poison a bottle of water and sat down with a fork. Kobra ate four sausages and half the package of rice with Poison’s insistence. When they were finished, Kobra laced his hands together in his lap while Poison scraped out the inside of the sausage tin and ate the leftover sauce.  
  
“You know, I never thanked you,” he said.  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
“For putting up with me this week. I know I’ve been making you miserable.”  
  
Poison placed the can on the floor. “You’re not making me miserable,” he said. “Don’t say that.”  
  
“No, I should have tried harder. There’s no excuse for this, man. I shouldn’t be too chickenshit to go outside. It’s embarrassing.”  
  
“You’re not chickenshit.”  
  
“Then what do you call panicking every time you step outside the door?”  
  
“Being traumatized after a week-long kidnapping.”  
  
Kobra shrugged and turned away.  
  
“Look. You’re doing better, Kid. A few times today, I’d swear you were back to your old self.”  
  
“Yeah, but it doesn’t last. Every time I try to step outside, I just lose my shit again.”  
  
“Kobra, you’ve been outside _twice_ today. How many times were you outside in the past week? None!”  
  
Kobra didn’t respond.  
  
“I’m proud of you, Kid. Okay? You know, there are a lot of war vets who wouldn’t have made it this far. D told me that.”  
  
Kobra grabbed a flower from the bed and fiddled with it in his lap. “Yeah, well,” he said. “Thank yourself, man. If it weren’t for you, I’d still be cowering in the kitchen.”  
  
Poison smiled and patted Kobra on the shoulder. Kobra smiled faintly at him, then stood up and picked up the bunch of flowers.  
  
“Do we have a spare water bottle or something?” he said. “Anything we can use for a vase?”  
  
Before Poison could respond, there was a knock at the door. “Who’s there?” Poison said.  
  
“It’s me! Blue!”  
  
Kobra dropped the flowers back on the bed and hurried over to the door. Poison tossed him the key, and he opened the door to reveal Blue beaming in the doorway. She wore a white shoulder-length wig flecked with glitter, a sparkly white dress with one strap held together by safety pins, red tights, dusty white flats, and a smudge of red eyeshadow and yellow lipstick. A leather sack with the mouth closed by string hung off her shoulder.  
  
“Hey!” Kobra said. “You look great! Where’d you get the new outfit?”  
  
“Tommy gave it to me,” she said, still beaming. “He gave me lots of clothes that he said he couldn’t sell, and he let me have one makeup kit. He said I can wear whatever I want, as long as it’s not tacky.”  
  
“Well, you don’t look tacky. You look amazing. What do you have there?” he said as he led her inside and closed the door.  
  
“I picked some flowers while running an errand this morning.” She handed him a plastic green cup filled with cupped orange and yellow wildflowers, spindly stems with purple flowers, and dry green grasses. “These are for you.”  
  
“Really? Oh man, I can’t take these! You should set them up in your room. Have a little decoration.”  
  
“I already have. I want you to have these.”  
  
Kobra smiled and took the cup. “All right. Thank you. They’re beautiful.” He dropped Poison’s flowers in the cup and set it on the dresser.  
  
“The desert is beautiful right now,” she said. “There are flowers dotted all over the plains. You have to come see it.”  
  
“We’re, uh…we’re thinking of taking a drive later,” Kobra said.  
  
“Oh, no, you can’t wait! Desert blooms don’t last forever. Let’s go for a walk! I saw some right across the street.”  
  
Kobra leaned against the dresser and swallowed hard. “Oh, uh…I don’t know, Blue,” he said.  
  
She frowned. “Are you all right? Is something wrong?”  
  
“Oh no, I’m fine, I just—” He turned to Poison, who gave him a sympathetic look. Kobra shook his head and pushed himself off the dresser. “You know what, forget it. Let’s go.”  
  
“Really?” Poison said.  
  
“Yeah. The flowers aren’t going to be around forever.”  
  
Blue clapped her hands and grinned, then raced to the door. Poison smiled at Kobra encouragingly as he strapped on his backpack—last time he had left supplies in an empty room, he found three cans of food and his two favorite pencils missing. Kobra tried to smile back, but his face was lined and pale.  
  
“Just take deep breaths,” Poison murmured as they walked down the hallway. Kobra took deep, steady breaths, but his face remained pale. He paused momentarily when they reached the doorway, then pushed open the doors and stumbled outside.  
  
“They’re so beautiful,” Blue said as they walked across the highway. “I haven’t seen real flowers in a long time. Most of the city flowers are made of fabric.”  
  
“With the fake plastic dew drops and everything?” Kobra said, trying to keep his voice steady.  
  
“Oh, yes. It’s so silly.”  
  
A hazy memory appeared in Poison’s mind of him asking his mother why the vase on the coffee table held plastic flowers instead of real ones. She replied _Because no one wants to see the real ones wither and die.  
  
_ Blue’s flats smacked against the pavement as they walked down the road. “There’s a hill right up here that’s covered in flowers,” she said. “When I rode up here, I saw two people having a picnic.”  
  
“Yeah, how did you get here?” Kobra said.  
  
“I rode a bicycle.”  
  
“Oh yeah? Did you ride in the city?”  
  
“Oh, no. Tommy taught me. He said that I must be able to transport myself if I’m going to work for him.”  
  
“Yeah. He doesn’t like driving people around. Says it wastes too much fuel. I had to beg him for a ride once after Ghoul twisted his ankle.”  
  
“I think he’s a little cheap,” Blue confided in a whisper.  
  
Kobra laughed. “Yeah, he is. I can’t believe he gave you all those clothes.”  
  
“He said he’s going to take the price for them out of my pay.”  
  
“Oh. Somehow, I’m not surprised.”  
  
Poison noticed that Kobra’s shoulders had relaxed, and he walked with a more comfortable stride.  
  
“So you like working for Tommy, Blue?” Poison said.  
  
“Oh, yes. He’s wonderful. He and Cherri are so kind.”  
  
“Good,” Poison said sincerely. “I’m glad.”  
  
They stepped into the field and began to walk toward the hill. Orange flowers brushed against their legs, and small insects occasionally jumped out. Blue shrieked, then giggled. As they trudged up the hill, the clusters of flowers became thicker and towered up to their waists. There were bright yellow and orange flowers, thick grasses, tiny purple flowers on tall stems, tangled shrubs, and a few cacti. Blue stumbled as her feet started to get caught in the grasses, and she nearly lost a shoe in a tangle of weeds. Kobra crouched down and let her climb on his back, then carried her through the flowers.  
  
He placed Blue down on her feet when they reached a small clearing on the top of the hill. Poison placed his hands on his hips and surrounded the area. They were surrounded by wildflowers dotted among the grasses, like drips from an artist’s paintbrush. The grasses swayed slightly in the wind. The sky above them was bright blue with a few streaks of cloud.  
  
“It’s beautiful,” Kobra said. The tension on his face had melted away.  
  
“Yeah, the view is incredible,” Poison said. “We’ll have to take the guys out here next time they visit.”  
  
“I’m sure they will love it,” Blue said. “I had no idea the desert could be so beautiful. In the city, we were told that it was a wasteland.”  
  
“Well, the city says a lot of things about us,” Kobra said. “But it’s not that bad out here.”  
  
He spotted tiny red flowers growing on a bunch of spindly weeds. He pulled out a few stems and handed them to Blue. Her eyes widened, and her face broke out into a smile.  
  
“I knew that her spirit would be with me,” she said.  
  
“Whose spirit?” Poison said.  
  
“Red’s. She was my…she was a close friend. She died on the border, but she promised that we would be together, wherever we go.” She separated the stems and handed one to Kobra and one to Poison. “As soon as I saw your red jacket, and your red hair, I knew that she had followed me into the desert.”  
  
Blue’s eyes flickered around the sky, as if searching for something. Poison thought he saw a flicker of red near a cloud, like a speck of glitter. At first he thought he imagined it, but Blue smiled.  
  
“It’s nice out here, isn’t it?” Poison said.   
  
“Yeah,” Kobra said. “Yeah. It’s beautiful.”  
  
A weight seemed to disappear from Kobra’s shoulders. As he slid his hands in his pockets and gazed up at the sky, Poison saw the Kobra from two weeks ago, who said goodbye to Poison, fitted on his helmet, and climbed onto his motorcycle without a second thought. Poison wrapped an arm around him, and Kobra laid his head on his shoulders and closed his eyes. Now his eyes were shadowed and his clothes hung limply off his frame, but for the moment peace had settled over him, like a light, airy cloud.


End file.
